


Destruction

by wrenrambles



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 67,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenrambles/pseuds/wrenrambles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>de·struc·tion - the action or process of causing so much damage to something that it no longer exists or cannot be repaired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: B/A   
> Rating: NC-17  
> Word Count:67,335  
> Disclaimer: Not mine.   
> Feedback: renskidoodledo at yahoo dot com  
> A/N: I started this story a week after IWRY 2013 ended and it was intended to be a drabble…and then it developed a life of its own. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. No beta, all mistakes are entirely my own.   
> A/N2: I swear this marathon is better than Christmas, especially so many years removed from the end of the shows. Does anyone else start binge watching all the old episodes?

Destruction

Buffy Summers is twenty two years old, which makes her the oldest living Slayer in the last two centuries.  She’s been told that this is remarkable but to her it’s just a number.  It isn’t like before, when you celebrated birthdays and correlated them with milestones like getting a driver’s license or graduating high school.  It’s said that parties were met with cake and presents and the kind of celebration that can only accompany an expected milestone.  Now the passing years are marked quietly, if at all.  There is no more fanfare.  It would only serve as a reminder of those who are long gone.

Buffy patrols the perimeter of their compound. It’s protected by a fence, a haphazard yet functional chain link and barbed wire, and exposes the open space beyond.  The compound was at one point a small farm.  Now it is home to survivors and the largest group of Council sympathizers, those who refuse to believe that the government and the military have truly solved the world of its demon problems.  

A lone vampire is frantically tearing at the chain link and does not hear her approach.  His eyes convey what his body confirms: he’s starving, desperate for food even if the risk is certain death. She stakes him quickly and wipes her hands on her pants before continuing along her patrol.  There will be more of these mercy stakings, as she thinks of them, before sunrise but if she’s lucky not much else.  In the early days there were waves of demon attacks and hordes of vampires that exhausted their resources and almost stretched them to the breaking point.  Buffy remembers the mornings where they would stumble back to base, broken and battered, but they survived.  They always did. 

+++  
When she completes her loop she returns to her room, a sectioned off space in what she understands was at one point a grain silo for the farm.  It’s been divided into three levels and she occupies the bottom so her comings and goings don’t disturb the other occupants, if there were any others.  There’s a small common area where she strips out of her protective layers, designed to guard against the freezing temperatures and residual radioactive particles.  Giles keeps saying it’s getting warmer but it’s a foreign concept to her - she’s never known anything but the constant cold and perpetual snowfall.

“Good morning, Buffy.”  Wes is making a pot of coffee on her hot plate when she opens the door, and she accepts the cup he offers.  It’s weak because they reuse grounds to the point of disintegration, but hot, and that’s all that matters.    

“Thanks, Wes.”  She takes a sip lets the almost too hot liquid warm her body.  “What are you doing here?”

The corners of his mouth turns up.  “Giles sent for you.”  “It’s urgent enough it can’t wait for later?”   Technically it’s dawn but the sun’s rays only barely penetrate the thick cloud of smoke that hides the sky.  Vampires are able to walk the earth at all hours, even if they do seem to prefer the time past sunset, and she patrols a few times a day.  She stifles a yawn and looks at her bed because it is her rest time. 

“I’m told it can’t.  If you want to wash up, I’ll wait for you.”  Wes looks at her over the rim of his cup, and she nods, pushing back the exhaustion. 

“Give me a few.”  On her way to her small bathroom she grabs a towel and a change of clothes.  One of the members of the compound had been able to do something to give them all running water, and although it’s cold, Buffy cannot complain.  She rinses her face and pulls her thick hair into a braid that hangs down her back, slipping out of her patrol clothes in favor of leggings and a long sleeve shirt that will fit under her outside layers. She stares at her reflection for a moment in the cracked mirror, caught for a moment in the hardened eyes and sharp corners that stare back at her.  She’s never been anyone else but can’t help but wonder if she had been, would her eyes be gentler, her cheeks rosier?  Wes calls to her from the other room and she breaks eye contact with herself.  

+++  
The Council’s base of operations is underground in a bunker designed for nuclear war.  It’s below an old chicken coop, an outdated building with most of its windows broken from the early days of looting.  Buffy knows it’s meant to look run down so as to appear unoccupied in the event of an invasion but today it depresses her how completely dilapidated it has become.  

Wes leads the way down the steep flight of stairs where silence is replaced with the quiet hum of voices.  After the Destruction, as they’d taken to calling it, an enclave of Watchers had founded their compound.  The Council headquarters in London had been destroyed in early bombings and it was only because of the determination of a few that their current compound had any resources at all.  She’d asked Giles once about that, why the Watchers had chosen the United States, and how they’d gotten here.  His answer had been long and complicated, so she stuck with the cliff notes; not all prophecies involved demons.  The Council had divided with the purpose of establishing bases around the world.  

“Ah, Buffy.  Good morning.”  Giles is their de facto leader and the Watcher that found her crouched over her mother’s body outside the city limits eight years ago.  She’d hated him then, blamed him as a Watcher for her mother’s death and her calling as a Slayer and removal from civilization, and it had taken years for her to fully release her misplaced anger at him.  

The bunker itself is large, and she thinks it is about the size of a football field she saw in a picture once.  It’s been divided into multiple sections and Giles occupies one corner where an old table serves as his desk.  He offers her a seat on his couch and she sinks down, ignoring the springs in her back.  Wes joins her and Giles takes the seat behind his desk, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge between his eyes.  

“Doyle’s had a vision.  Of an uprising.”  

“An uprising?”  Wes is perched on the corner of the couch, eyebrows furrowed and eyes bright from a full night’s rest.  “The military?”

“No, no, not the military.  Not this time.  No, we’re looking at a demon or vampire led insurgency.”  Giles looks tired, she thinks. 

“How serious is the threat?”  Wes’ lips are pursed and Buffy can see the tension in his shoulders. 

“From what we know, it’s fairly significant.”  

“Are we certain?”  Wes is pushing too hard, she can see it in Giles’ face.  But she can understand putting his stock in false information rather than the possibility of violence. 

“Certain enough that I called you in.”  Giles’ tone is short and Wes nods his apology and concession.  “The information thus far is rather muddled.  What we know is that the threat seems reality and it is against both us and the government.  We’re told the leader is a master vampire and that their numbers are growing.  Our compound and the Capital Base are the main targets.”  It’s now that Buffy notices the flurry of activity around her.  The bunker, generally a hum of activity, has a frantic energy as men and women scurry across the floor with books and have hushed conversations.  She sits up a bit straighter.

“We’ve been on alert since Doyle showed up here, but his vision from last night provided the first clear picture of what we’re up against.”  Wes leans forward but Buffy cuts him off.  There will be time to talk about the details later; for now, she’s concerned with action.  

“What do we do now?”   It’s been over a year since anything but a routine patrol and Buffy can feel her exhaustion recede, replaced by adrenaline.

“That’s where it gets complicated.” 

+++  
His hands are numb, but he doesn’t stop digging.  If he does the others will notice and then his rations are as good as gone.  Meager as they are he knows the ripple effect of a day without rations.  He steels himself and drives his fingers into the earth. 

“ATTENTION: RATIONS WILL BE DISTRIBUTED IN TEN MINUTES.”

The loudspeaker makes him wince, the noise in harsh contrast with the silence of the tunnels.  Those around him stop what they’re doing, bodies exhausted by the work no person should have to suffer through any day, let alone every day. 

But they’re not people, he reminds himself.  They’re vampires and this is penance. His penance. 

Sometimes he loses sight of what that penance is for but never for long.  When his shoulders ache until he feels they will crack under the weight of steel machinery or his fingernails rip off or he thinks he’s losing his mind as the days blend together, he thinks about fighting even if it means certain death.  Then he remembers that death would be a gift he doesn’t deserve. 

He follows the mob through tunnels and around bends, feeling the ascent up through the earth.  Before vampires were made to do this work men used machinery to travel through the mines, but no more.  The humans have gotten wiser up and allow them nothing that can be used as a weapon.  So they walk. 

Their pace slows as the tunnel narrows.  He can see the door at the end, bathed in a soft glow he knows is only for the benefit of the humans, but appreciates after hours of darkness.  Once they are all in the room and the door closes rations will be distributed.  The humans will stand on a ledge a few hundred feet above and toss them over.  It’s not a perfect system - sometimes the bags of animal blood break on their way down, and if you’re not quick enough you’re likely to lose your ration to someone who is - but it functional for the humans.  They’re out of reach of the vampires below and should someone be foolish enough to try to make the ascent they’re as good as dead.  The ledge is always occupied by military in riot gear.  The basis of the human’s control is alertness, a lesson they learned and never forgot.  

The door closes, but nothing else.  The gnawing hunger in his stomach threatens to overwhelm him and when he looks up and sees that none of the normal humans are there for a moment he’s tempted to join with the roars of those around him.  But then the roar slowly quiets and he realizes the guard above them in speaking, and he strains to hear.  Whatever it is they want, their rations will not be delivered until the demands are met.  

“Turn it over and the drop will be made.”  The guard is barking an order but he can’t make out what it is.  The crowd is growing restless and he’s hopeful it’s settled soon.  He wants food, and he wants sleep.  

A steel cage is lowered into the center of their space and the guard speaks again.  He hears his name.  

Angelus. 

Fighting a wave of panic he turns to run, but there’s nowhere to go.  The vampires around him close in quickly and he’s propelled to the ground under a wave of limbs.  He can feel his teeth emerge and he gnashes at arms and legs but it’s useless - the guards keep them half starved and use food as a weapon.  He’s just the latest tool.  

The steel bars press into him as he’s shoved into the cage and he makes himself as small as possible.  In his centuries on the planet he’s rarely found that change serves him well.  

The cage lands with a jolt and he squeezes his eyes shut against the assault on his senses.  He’s been in the mine for thirty years and in that time has had almost no interaction with humans, other than from a distance.  He wills himself steady but a growl escapes his throat, halting the conversation around him. 

“We’re going to need those restraints, Captain Finn.”  

Cold metal cuffs close around his neck, wrists and ankles and he’s pulled from the cage.  His wrists are bound behind him and a chain is fastened between his ankles, forcing him to shuffle as they propel him forward, heartbeats pounding in his ears.  It’s overwhelming and he’s entranced by the blood that surrounds him.

“Are you dumb or just hard of hearing?  Get in.” The guard shoves him forward with the barrel of his gun and he stumbles into the back of a truck.  They attach his restraints to the bench and then fasten a chain to the neck restraint and pull it flush against the wall.  The door slams behind him and the truck lurches forward. 

The soldiers he sees in the mines everyday are hardened and vulgar, their hatred of the demon population rolling off them in waves.  The people in the truck pay him no mind, instead letting their heads rest against the metal walls, eyes closed in what almost appears to be relief.  The farther the truck gets from the mine the less like military these people seem and he furrows his eyebrows slightly when he realizes they’re in plain clothing, not uniforms.  

Were they always?  he wonders, but can’t answer.  

He allows his eyes to close, concentrating on the cold steel around his body instead of the warm blood.  If he were still at the mines it would be resting time, and the intensity of moments ago is replaced by hunger fueled fatigue.  He can feel himself slipping into darkness but figures why fight it?  If it was his death they were after, he would already be a pile of ash. 

++  
Angel jolts awake when the truck rolls to a stop, disoriented, and when the chains prevent him from moving he remembers.  The people in the truck jump up around him and he stiffens but they ignore his presence as they jump out the back door. 

“Were we followed?”  A male voice, tense and hushed.  

“No, I don’t think so.”  Another male voice.  “We didn’t take the direct route and Gunn kept watch.”  

“Good.”  

More voices join them but he can’t make out words over the smell of their blood vibrating through his body.  He’d had strategies, once, and he desperately tries to remember them.  Deep breaths only make it worse, the demon in him singing at the invasion of humanity.  He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of empty eyes and destroyed lives but all he can focus on is puncture wounds and the feeling of warm blood slipping down his throat.

“Let’s go, dirtbag.”  The voice from outside the truck snaps his eyes open and he can feel the change, his body pulling against the restraints regardless of the will of his mind.  

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  The man jumps down of the truck and turns out of sight but Angel cannot force himself to relax.   When the man returns, this time with a redheaded woman, he can feel the pressure building in his chest.

“Get….away.”  His voice sounds foreign to him, rough from disuse and distorted by fangs, and he closes his eyes in disgust and shame.

“I thought they said he was different.  This is a waste of time.”  

“Yeah Xander, because you’re so pleasant when you’re hungry.”  The woman’s voice almost sounds amused.  The smell of blood suddenly assaults him and his eyes snap open, eyes fixed on the container in front of him.  It’s cold, but human, and he can’t suppress a growl.

“I’m going to pour this down a tube, almost like a straw.  Try not to spill any, we don’t have a ton as backup.”  The woman guides the tube to his lips and tilts the container of blood into it.  He sucks greedily until there is no more left and he forces himself to sit back, feeling the change recede.  There was not enough to sate him but he can feel the haze around him lift.  

“Thanks, Willow.”  The man, Xander, says without taking his eyes from Angel.  “Tell Giles we’ll be there in a few.”  

Willow jumps down from the truck and two other men jump up in her stead, holding guns and tasers.  Xander releases his restraints from the truck and drags him down by his elbow.  He stumbles but catches himself, shuffling his feet as fast as his restraints allow to keep up with the men escorting him.  A taser is pressed into his back and he makes himself as nonthreatening as possible, wondering if they would kill him if he tried to escape.  It’s a tempting thought but he pushes it from his mind.  It’s clear these people are not military and he has to believe that whatever they have in store for him, it’s not worse than the mines. 

Angel fights to ignore the memory of Darla’s laughter, mocking and cruel, at his unfailing efforts to find good in humanity.  

“Sit down.”  Xander shoves him into a chair in the back of what seems to be a garage and then leans on the wall behind Angel.  A door opens behind him and two people walk in and he can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  

Slayer.

She’s with an older man who he infers is her Watcher from the greying hair, stiffened posture and curious eyes.  The Slayer surprises him; in a world where demons have been domesticated, the anger on her face catches him off guard.  

“You are Angelus, correct?”  The British accent sounds tired.  “I am Ruppert Giles and this is Buffy Summers.”

The formalities confuse him but he nods.  

“I apologize for the restraints but we were not sure the circumstances under which we’d find you.  I’m led to understand that life in the mines is brutal.”  Small talk has not been a part of Angel’s life in over a century, and closes his eyes briefly.  

“What do you want?”  He clears his throat and attempts to make his voice sound less gravelly before he tries again.  “What am I doing here?”  

“There is a rebel group that is planning an attack.  We have reason to believe that you may be able to provide us with information.”  Giles’ hands are crossed over his left knee, which is bent over the right.  The Slayer is leaning back in her chair, arms folded across her chest, expression guarded.  Xander taps his foot impatiently behind him.   

When he was taken it had been by a well-organized military and in the years since then, and he’s watched uncertain young men evolve into deadly and efficient soldiers.  The methods of control employed in the mines are brutal and the prisoners are replaceable.  He’s managed to survive by keeping his head down and the idea of these people, a Slayer and a Watcher, thinking he knows anything about a rebellion drives a strangled sound from his throat that may have been a laugh at one point.  

“I’m sorry, did we say something amusing?”  Buffy sits upright in her chair, mouth turned down at the corners.  Giles drops both feet to the floor and arches his eyebrows.  

“I hardly think this is a laughing matter, Angelus.”

He sobers instantly.  “I’m not him.  Not Angelus.  Not anymore.”  

“So the records are correct, then?  You are in possession of a human soul?”  

The words sound clinical coming from Giles and it occurs to Angel he’s never heard them laced with anything except malice or contempt.  

“Yes.”  

“And what should we call you then, if not Angelus?” 

“Angel.” 

Xander snorts behind him, and Buffy smirks, and he closes his eyes.  His sister’s voice in his head washes over him with a fresh wave of shame and disgust. 

“We have reason to believe that you may know something about the rebellion, Angel.”  Giles ignores Buffy and Xander, his tone businesslike.  

“I don’t.”  

Buffy rolls her eyes picks at her nails. "Infallible messenger, right?"

"It's not in your best interest to withhold information from us." Giles leans back in his chair. "I understand that a return to the mines after an absence can be worse than if you had never left."

Angel suppresses a shudder, thinking of the rank and respect he'd fought so hard for and knowing that his absence will make him as good as a new arrival or worse, a perceived traitor. He's seen too much, been a part of too much, to think he can withstand reentry. 

"Yes." He's still not sure who these people are, other than the certainty that they are not military, but it’s the most human connection he's had in decades and it pulls at him. "I have no reason to lie to you."

"But you also have no reason to tell the truth." Giles words hang in the air, a challenge.

"You're not military. And I've heard enough to know that makes you rebels." He's bluffing, trying to keep the conversation moving before they realize he’s not the person they were looking for and send him back.  

Buffy's eyes narrow. "You don't know what you're talking about."

He holds her eye contact, the force of her stare almost too much to withstand. "No. But you just told me I'm not wrong."

She crosses the space between them in two strides and punches him in the jaw. The force of the blow knocks the chair over and his head hits the concrete, hard. Angel closes his eyes and the pain blossoms reminding him that just because the scenery has changed doesn't mean his status has. He's still a vampire being held by a Slayer and a Watcher.

"That's enough. Xander, escort Angel to the holding cell in the back." He can feel himself lifted off the ground, the room spinning before him. The walk to the cell is slow and Xander's grip is hard enough to bruise. The cell is a small room in the back, fortified with a steel door, thick lock and a reinforced window, and he reconsiders his assumptions that they're amateurs at kidnapping and interrogation.

The door slams behind him and he's alone in a dark room, arms restrained uncomfortably across his chest. He sinks to the floor, letting his throbbing head slump forward.

++  
The lock in the door wakes him from his fitful sleep, but he doesn't bother to rise. It's Giles, and he's alone, which makes Angel certain he's meeting his executioner. He lets his head slump again.

"I thought perhaps we could try again." Giles moves slowly, as though Angel is a wounded animal and he can think no reason to prove him wrong.  "Would you like me to remove your restraints?" At this, Angel's jerks his head up, eyes narrowed. 

He can smell fear on Giles, but not as much as he'd expect from a man risking his life.

"Why?"

"I thought that perhaps it would be easier to carry on a conversation if you were not trussed like an animal."

Angel sits as still as Giles unlocks his restraints, moving slowly and taking care not to touch him.  When Angel is free Giles moves to the other side of the room.  

“Better?” 

Angel stretches his arms and rubs his wrists, sore from the too tight cuffs.  “Why?” 

Giles smiles slightly.  “The source I spoke of before is a messenger for the Powers that Be.  He gets visions, if you will, and he saw you as being a source of help to us.  He also told us about your soul, which our own research seems to confirm.”  

Angel furrows his brow.  “But I’m still a vampire.”  Giles blood sings to him and he clenches his hands into fists.  

“Yes, you are.  But Doyle has convinced me that you’re old enough to be in control of your bloodlust and more, that your soul will prevent you from taking action against me.”  

“And if you’re wrong?  He’s wrong?”  He’s not sure why he’s pushing the point, why he can’t accept this gift he’s been given.  But he cannot remember the last time anyone simply trusted him and he finds it unnerving. 

“Then I suppose the fact you’re near starvation will make my death quick.”  Giles reaches into his satchel and pulls out a small container of blood.  “Speaking of which, I’m led to believe you could likely use this.”  

He tosses it across the room and Angel catches it while feeling the change take hold.  His fangs lengthen and the blood is gone too soon.  It’s human, like last time, but this time it is not nearly as satisfying.  Still, he can’t stop himself from seeking every last drop.  

When he looks up and sees Giles watching him, he feels a wave of shame and sets the container on the floor next to him.  “Sorry,” he mutters without looking up.  

“Interesting.  Why should you be sorry for what you are?”  There is no disgust in Giles’ tone.

“Because what I am is an abomination.”  He looks at his pale hands, bony and bruised and laced with scar tissue, and thinks of the destruction he’s caused.  “Because I am a monster.”  

“It’s in my nature to be fascinated by this, Angel.  And with your permission I would love to continue this conversation.  But for the moment I get back to why I’m here.”  Giles stands, and Angel watches him rise.  His estimates put him over 50, and yet he is as limber as man twenty years his junior.  

“I’ve had the displeasure of visiting the mines and have a minuscule understanding of what your existence must have been like these past number of years.”  He pauses, as if unsure of his next words and when he speaks his tone is cautious.  “You’re most likely going to be with us for some time.”  

Angel releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.  The thought of his return to the mines had been enough to crush him.  

“I can’t promise you that it is going to be an easy transition but you’ve given me no reason to distrust you, despite my cautious nature.”  Angel nods, unsure of what he’s agreeing to.  “Most of the people in our compound are products of the Destruction and view the world in black and white.  You are a shade of grey it will take them time to acclimate to.  But in the meantime I’d like to make your transition a bit easier.”

+++  
Two hours later Angel is clean for the first time in as long as he can remember.  Giles offered him a shower and a change of clothing and he’d willingly accepted both, letting the water wash away years of dirt and dust and blood.  The water is cold but he doesn’t notice, watching brown and black slide down the drain.  When he emerges from the shower he finds a towel and a pair of black linen pants and shirt and willingly throws his clothing from the mines into the trash can.  The pants hang from his bony hips and the shirt gapes at the neckline and he’s grateful he can’t cast a reflection to see how gaunt he’s become.  

Giles sits on a couch in the small room, writing in a journal.  They’d left the garage and he had been astounded at the cold, snowy landscape. They’d walked, slowly, before arriving at what appeared to be an old barn. Only, Angel had been surprised to see, it had been converted to a series of rooms.  The entire building was warm and Angel can detect what seems to be dozens of heartbeats.  When he exits the washroom, he presses himself against the wall.  

“Thank you.”  Angel whispers, trying to find the words over the tightening in his throat.  "You've shown me more humanity than I've received in three decades." 

Giles nods, then glances at his watch.  “I’m afraid I can’t ask you to stay here.”  

Angel nods then walks to the door, his bare feet absorbing the heat of the room before hitting the cold ground.  He thinks the make an odd pair; Giles is covered head to toe in layers designed to protect and Angel exposes enough skin that if he were human, he’d likely die of hypothermia.  

Giles leads him back into the garage and into the cell but before he closes the door, hands him a blanket he’d taken from his room. 

“Goodnight, Angel.”

This time, when the door closes, Angel curls up on the blanket Giles has given him and passes out.  He does not dream.

+++  
Buffy wakes with a jolt, as she always does. It takes her a minute to orient herself before she remembers Giles and the bunker.  She’d done another quick patrol before making her way back to her room and passing out.  

The garage they use to store their weapons and the few vehicles that still work is off to the side of their compound.  It’s in good repair and for a moment Buffy imagines the family that used to own the farm, waking at the crack of dawn to milk cows and feed chickens.  It’s idyllic, even if she can’t really imagine the feeling of sun on her back, but it’s broken by the sound of raised voices from within. 

Buffy quickens her pace and finds Xander and Giles outside of the cell, Xander’s face red and Giles’ lips in a thin line.  

“So that’s it then?  You just make calls on your own?”  Xander’s arms are folded across his chest.    
“I did what I thought was best.”  

In the cell, she can see Angel slumped against the wall, unrestrained.  There’s a blanket on the ground and he’s wearing different clothing. 

“What’s going on?”  Giles and Xander stop their conversation and look to her.  

“Giles decided to bring the vampire into his home and offer it a shower and a hot meal,” Xander says angrily.

“And my judgment proved sound.”  Giles pushes his glasses up his nose and turns toward the cell.  “I don’t have to justify myself to you, Xander.”  

“Wait,” Buffy cuts in, trying to catch up.  “Did you think about what you happen if he’d attacked you.”  

“No, Buffy.  I never considered that a possibility.” Sarcasm is not something she typically hears from Giles, so she bites her retort. In the years she’s been here Giles has worn many hats but fool has never been one of them.

“Did you get any information?”  Xander narrows his eyes at her but if Giles notices the shift in tone, he ignores it. 

“No, nor was it the point.  Do you understand what it means that Angel has a soul?”  Buffy considers for a moment before slowly shaking her head.  “It means that for over a century, Angelus was known as the Scourge of Europe, one of the most vicious vampires on record.  And when he killed a Romani girl they cursed him with a soul.”  

“What, they were all out of boils?” Xander bites out and Giles turns to stare.  

“Boils would have been merciful.  It means that for over one hundred years he was a ruthless, soulless killer.  And when the gypsies cursed him, it truly was the most horrific punishment they could conjure.”  He waits, comprehension dawning on Buffy.  “Vampires are demons, and they do not have souls.  When they restored his soul, they restored his conscious.  All those years as a killer, and he now feels remorse for them.  I cannot think of a punishment worse.”  

A silence hangs in the air and Buffy looks at Angel, eyes wide.  She thinks back to when her mother died, when a rogue vampire discarded her body near the trash heap at the front of her living quarters.  How she felt guilt for that because she hadn’t been there, hadn’t done enough.  The guilt had almost eaten her alive.  But she didn’t kill her mother, or hundreds of other people.    
“So last night was…?” Xander lets his words trail off, his face twisted as though he’d swallowed something distasteful.  

“Angel has been living in deplorable conditions for the past thirty some odd years, and to boot, he’s half starved.  I offered him basic courtesies, like food and a shower, and in the process I won a sliver of trust.”  

“And what, you two had tea?”  Buffy’s mind is reeling from what Giles is telling her and she can’t imagine the two of them in his apartment, and the level of trust Giles had placed in the creature her existence revolved around destroying. 

“What if he had attacked you?”  Xander’s knuckles are white where he grips the taser.  

“That’s the point.  Angel would not attack me because of his soul.  Because of his conscious.  He has no desire to attack humans.” 

“And what, he told you all this?”  

“Damnit Xander, the world is not as black and white as you think it is.”  Giles’ outburst stuns them into silence for a moment.  “I need you to put aside the hatred you’ve been taught and think for yourself for a moment.  Why would the Powers lead us to him if they did not think it was necessary?  And why would he not have attacked me last night, when he was at his weakest?” 

Xander closes his eyes for a moment.  “So now what?”

“We have to ask him about the rebellion.”  Buffy remembers the sound of his skull on the concrete and she feels shame heat her face.  “But this time, not as harshly.”  

Giles gestures to the door and Xander unlocks the cell.  “You stay here, Xander.  Keep guard.”  He looks like he’s about to protest and then nods wordlessly.  

“Good morning, Angel,” Giles says briskly as they open the door.  From his position on the floor, Angel lifts his head slightly.   

“I take it you remember Buffy?”  The introductions seem surreal but she forces herself to nod.  

“I’m...sorry about yesterday.” She forces herself to maintain eye contact, surprised to find that she means what she’s saying.  When he returns her eye contact, she’s startled.  The vampires she’s faced are starved with hunger, or insane from captivity or rarely, lucid and evil.  But Angel’s eyes are pools of sorrow, guilt and longing.

He nods but remains silent.  

“You were correct yesterday in your assumption that we’re rebels of a sort.”  Buffy is alarmed at Giles’ words and stares openly at him as he continues. “This compound is the de facto headquarters of the Watcher’s Council in this part of the world, and we’re about 150 miles from the regional military base, where most of the surviving humans in this part of the country live.  Our location is kept concealed by elaborate cloaking spells and no, the military does not know where we are.”  

“Why?” Angel croaks.  

“Because we are a threat to them.  After the Destruction, the country adopted a police state mentality and people obeyed mindlessly.”  

“The Destruction?”  

Giles takes off his glasses and wipes them clean with his shirt.  Buffy watches the exchange and tries to hide her confusion.  

“In 1975 the countries known as the United States and the Soviet Union engaged in nuclear war.  It was widespread and very nearly destroyed the human race.”  

“Demons didn’t do this?” Angel looked dumbfounded, like his understanding of the world had been shaken.

“No, it was humans.  Vampires and demons were discovered accidentally, actually.  Population was decreasing rapidly due to radiation poisoning and other fallout, and those with supernatural healing ability stood out.”  

“You didn’t know?”  Buffy was living in the City when she was called as the Slayer, and the supernatural was taught alongside math and history, their role in society almost romanticized.  There were pictures of demons and vampires, demon aspect always visible, weeding gardens under moonlight and tending to fields of animals.  It was a perfect society, they told her and she’d swallowed their lie.

It was only after Giles had found her and showed her the truth, that the military kept people living in fear while using vampires and demons as their slave labor force that she understood.  The military’s understanding of demons and vampires was reactionary, and their treatment of them arrogant and simpleminded.

Buffy’s world had been rocked and looking at Angel, she feels a stab of pity.  

“No.”  If there’s more, he doesn’t offer it.

“It was only a matter of time before the demons not under the control of the military banded together.  As far as we can tell they suffer no effects from the remaining radiation, ill or otherwise.”  Giles finishes speaking, and waits expectantly.  

“I wasn’t lying yesterday.  I don’t know the answer to your questions.”  Angel lets his head slump again, eyes closing briefly, and Buffy lets herself study him.  His hair is dark, and cut close to his scalp, which is alabaster like the rest of his skin.  He’s wearing the clothing Giles lent him but they hang loosely which strikes her as odd because it seems that Angel should be larger than Giles.  There are hollows in his cheeks and his eyes are sunken into his head.  Somehow, the fact that he’s barefoot makes him seem more vulnerable.  

“We were asking the wrong questions.”  Giles says grimly when Angel looks up again, and pulls a piece of paper from his pants pocket.  “Doyle receives visions from the Powers that Be, and these messages can at times be unclear.  What we are meant to ask you is about the vampires leading the rebellion.”   Angel’s eyes narrow and his fists clench.  Buffy can feel herself tense.  

“The vision has indicated that there are three vampires at the helm.  Do the names Darla, Spike or Drusilla mean anything to you?”

Angel holds Giles gaze, but when he speaks his voice shakes.  “Yes.”  

There’s a pause as Giles waits, expecting more, but Angel does not speak.  “It would be helpful to us if you could perhaps elaborate.” 

“There are volumes written about them,” Angel bites but his tone wavers and for a moment, Buffy thinks she hears a hint of fear.  

“I don’t doubt that.  But in the Destruction most of our resources were lost.”  Giles folds his arms over his chest and speaks deliberately.  “Anything you would be able to provide would be most helpful.”  
 “Can I speak to the messenger?  Doyle?”  Angel’s request catches her off guard but if it does the same to Giles, he hides it well.  

“Of course.” 

He turns to exit the room and Buffy follows, feeling unsettled.  

+++  
They’re able to get Doyle down to the garage fairly quickly, and he smiles nervously as he approaches.  

He’d shown up at the compound a week earlier, his fingers and toes nearly frostbitten. Buffy had been patrolling and had taken him directly to Giles who had gotten the story out of him: messenger for the Powers, got visions, was meant to be there.  They’d been skeptical, despite his insistence that in order to break the protection wards someone had to know to look for their farm, until two nights later he’d collapsed on the floor writhing in pain. Vision, he’d told them, and had then successfully prepared them to defend against a Murite demon the next night.  

The demon disposed of they finally sat down and listened to Doyle’s story.  His visions guided him from camp to camp, delivering messages and trying to balance the scales, but about six months earlier they’d stopped showing him the future and instead gave him a glimpse of the past.  Angel’s past, specifically.  Buffy had listened with morbid fascination as he described the century of brutality, then the gypsy girl that led to the curse.  Doyle told them his visions allowed him to experience things from the point of view of the person in his vision, and that Angel’s past gave him a front row seat to alleys, sewers, and rats.  Buffy had never lived when humans had lived lives of luxury and vampires had their pick of victims, but even still the idea of a vampire in self-imposed isolation seemed almost too much to fathom.  

“Listen, man.  I’m just the messenger.  I’m not lovin’ the idea of gettin’ throw in a cage with a vampire.”  Doyle bounces on the balls of his feet.

“I thought vision showed you he had a soul.”  Buffy’s nerves are frayed from the conversation with Angel and she can hear it in her tone.  She’s a Slayer and by nature it feels wrong to be in this close proximity with a vampire and not kill him, her being humming with the desire for action.  But there’s another part of her too, one she can’t really explain and makes her uncomfortable to think about too much, and that part of her wants to go back into the cell and not leave until she finds answers to questions she can’t completely formulate.  

“Yeah, doll face, but a starving, half crazed vampire is still a vampire if you get what I’m sayin’.”  Giles raises an eyebrow and smirks.  

“You had no qualms about sending me in there, if I recall correctly.”  

Doyle sighs dramatically before pushing the door open, muttering something about last wishes before it closes behind him.  Buffy and Giles watch through the window until Buffy gets bored and turns, resting her back against the cinder block.  

“Let me know if anything interesting happens.”  She means to sound flippant but her tone comes across as weary and she lets her eyes flutter close when she feels Giles’ gaze on her. 

“How are you holding up, Buffy?”  His tone is cautious, but gentle, and she looks down.  But before she can answer the door at the end of the hallway opens and Wes walks in, followed by a blast of cold air.  His expression is drawn but he offers a smile, no doubt for her sake, and she attempts to return one.  Whereas Giles had borne the brunt of her anger and guilt, Wes had always been her rock. 

“Progress?”  

She takes one of the mugs he’d brought with him from his outstretched hand and breathes in its aroma.   Even in their post-apocalyptic world coffee seems to be in endless supply and it is something she simply doesn’t question.  The need for hot beverages doesn’t cease during a never ending winter.

“Something like that.”  Giles sips from the other mug and Wes peers into the window, frowning slightly.  

“No restraints?”  

“Didn’t you hear?  He’s been neutered.”  Giles looks for a moment like he’s about to admonish her but then smiles over the top of the mug instead.  

At that moment the cell opens and Doyle walks out, slouching as against the door as he pushes it shut.  “Vampire with a soul?  Not the barrel of laughs you’d expect then.” 

Giles lowers his mug and straightens, all traces of humor gone. “And?”

“He didn’t want to share his secrets with me,” Doyle pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers.  “Wanted me to spill mine.  Whatever you said to him before shook him up pretty bad and he’s wigging out in there.”  

Buffy suppresses the urge to hit something.  “And how exactly do we fix that?  I’m not sure anyone has a degree in vampire psychology around here.”  

“It’s not vampire psychology,” Wes holds up his hand before Buffy can cut him off. “It’s basic consideration.  If he was human, we’d be falling over ourselves to make him feel welcome and show him that we are not the same humans that have kept him trapped in a mine.”  

+++  
She can’t take her eyes off the vampire, off of Angel.  He’s sitting on one end of the couch in Giles’ room, taking up as small as space as is physically possible.  Giles is in the communal kitchen in the center of the barn making tea and Wes had offered to make a stop to get more blood from their medical center. They’re all required to donate blood every six months in order to have enough of a supply in the event of an attack. Buffy’s blood is the only one not in storage because the Watchers were insistent that Slayer blood contain special properties. 

“Can I get you anything?”  The words feel foolish leaving her mouth but she suddenly feels the need to fill the silence.  

His head jerks up and she freezes.  

“No. No thank you.”  Then he’s back to staring at his hands, or nothing - she can’t be sure.  

“Giles is a good man.”  Buffy waits until Angel looks back up before she continues.  “I know that a Slayer is the last person on earth you’ll want to trust, but you should trust him.”  

“Why?" He sounds like he could sleep for hours and not be rested and Buffy forces herself not to dwell on what his life has been like before now.  Doyle had described the mines as best as he was able and Giles had filled in the gaps. 

"He found me, outside the city.  I'd been called a few months earlier and the military was training me, thrilled to have a Slayer on their team."  She pauses to clear her throat. "But I asked too many questions they didn't like and they killed my mother."  

"I'm so sorry." His words are weightless and despite the fact she's heard them so many times before, his carry depth that can only come from a place of understanding. Her words hitch in her throat and she forces herself to continue.  

"Giles found me, outside the City. Brought me here." This time when she looks up, she holds his gaze.  "He's a good person because he won't give up. He built this place, and he keeps everyone here safe."

From behind her she hears movement and flushes when it occurs to her she has no idea how long Giles has been standing there. But he says nothing, only brings the tea tray over to the table. 

Giles pours three cups of tea, wordlessly offering one to Angel. Buffy watches, fascinated, as he picks up the cup with great care before taking a sip, wincing as it burns his throat. It doesn't stop him from tipping the entire cup into his mouth as she and Giles watch, fascinated. 

"I apologize," Giles returns his attention to his own cup. "It's certainly not the quality tea you'd expect from a Brit.  We’re in short supply so we ration what we have.  The result is rather subpar, I’m afraid.”  

Angel stares, as if he's not certain what his response is supposed to be. He finally nods, eyebrows furrowed.

"Darla is my sire."  Angel stares into his empty mug. "I sired Drusilla and she sired Spike.”  

Giles nods and offers Angel more tea which he accepts readily.  He drinks it in the same fashion as before and Buffy winces as she sips her hot liquid. 

“Why are you doing that?”  Giles looks at her and it reminds her of the way her mother would look at her when she had been inappropriate.  She refuses to meet his eyes, staring intently at Angel instead.  “Doesn’t it burn?” 

“Yes.”  He says and for a moment she thinks that’s all he will say.  “But it helps with the hunger.”  He breaks eye contact with her on the last word and she can see a glimpse of self-loathing flit across his face before it returns to its unreadable mask. 

“Oh,” Buffy finally says, biting her lip.  “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.”  This time he doesn’t hide the bitterness from his voice she can see his knuckles turn white around the handle of his mug.  It’s blue with delicate white flowers and it looks tiny in his large hands.  

Giles shoots her a look before continuing.  “When was the last time you saw any of them?”  

Angel sits perfectly still, lost in a memory.  “Darla found me in New York in the 1920’s.  She wasn’t looking for me, stumbled across me trying to find the Master.”  

“The Master?”  Giles’ tea sits on the table, forgotten, and he’s taking notes as Angel speaks.  

“Master vampire.  Old.  Oldest.  Powerful.”  

“Is that the last you’d heard?”  Giles sounds like he’ has all the time in the world but Buffy can detect a hint of impatience under his veneer, honed from years of listening to lectures. 

“Spike and Dru found me in the 1950’s.  She had been attacked by a mob in Prague, needed my blood to heal her.”  

“And it worked I take it?”  

“Yes.”  A pause.  “Should have killed me, but the church collapsed.  I saw them leaving out the backdoor.  She was strong, carried Spike.”  

Giles glances back at the paper in front of him.  “Anything else you can think of?”  

Angel looks helpless for a moment, then meets Giles’ stare.  “Dru is psychic.  Gets visions.”  

There’s a knock at the door and Buffy opens it, letting Wes in.  “I got what I could,” he says, handing her a glass container filled with blood.  “We have to have another drive, and soon.” 

Giles comes around from behind the couch but Angel remains seated, rooted to his spot.  Buffy can see the tension in his shoulders, which only gets more pronounced when Giles opens the container.  

“Perhaps we should heat it up?”  His tone is so casual that if she didn’t know any better Buffy might think he was talking about leftovers from the night before.  

From the couch there’s a low growl, and when they turn Angel’s hands are clenched around his knees.  “Please,” is all he says, his voice thick.  

Buffy takes the container from Giles and walks it over to him, almost dropping it when she sees he’s in his vampire visage.  Up until that point it had been easy to pretend he was a man and seeing her simple version of the story ripped away shakes her.  Buffy’s rooted to the spot as Angel inhales the blood in the container, using his finger to remove every drop.  There’s a rivulet of blood on his chin and perversely, she thinks, she finds herself wanting to wipe it up.

When he finally looks up the blood and his demon face are gone.  

“I’m sorry.”  His voice is hoarse but all Buffy can manage to do is nod.  

“I have to patrol,” she tells Giles, moving hastily around the couch.  “Scott offered but I can’t be away two nights.”  It’s an excuse, but the walls suddenly feel like they’re closing in on her.  “Tomorrow?”  

Then she’s gone.

+++  
Angel is exhausted but Giles doesn’t seem to have any interest in returning him to the cell just yet.  After Buffy left, her disgust with him clearly displayed on her face, Wes had followed.  It was just him and Giles and the Watcher had put on another pot of tea. 

His conversation with Doyle feels as though it took place days ago, the surrealism that of all the beings in the world the Powers had deemed him the one needed here, now.  Doyle had been nervous but certain; this was where he was supposed to be.  Angel has tried to process it, tried to understand what it is about himself but he’s coming up blank.  Even the connection with his former pack is tenuous at best and destroyed books or not, there were certainly other means of getting the information.  He doesn’t fully believe Giles’ assurance he’s not going to be returning to the mines but he tries.

The couch gives Angel the most comfort he’s had in years and he can feel his eyes close while Giles moves around behind him.  Manual labor tires his body, but the past two days have exhausted him to his core.  The sheer force of will it takes him to not give in to his darker nature takes most of his energy and he wonders how he used to live among humans.

An alley flashes in his mind and he’s reminded why he chose to cohabitate with rats.

Giles comes back with a fresh pot of tea and Angel forces himself to drink his cup slowly, letting the hot liquid flow down his throat and give the temporary illusion of being sated.  Buffy’s scrutiny had caught him off guard and he can feel a fresh wave of shame, the hope of being seen as something other than a demon he didn’t even know he was harboring dashed.  

“We are aware that our supply of sustenance is not adequate to meet your needs.”  Giles looks at Angel over the top of his glasses, studying him.  “I had assumed it was a given, but I realize now that it was a foolish assumption.”  

Angel nods, not sure if a response is required.  

“Are you able to sustain on this, for the time being?”  

“Yes.”

“I’m not asking because I want the easy answer, Angel.” 

He ducks under Giles’s stare.  “I can survive, yes.” 

“But it’s difficult?”  

“Yes.”  

“Why?”    
 Angel feels a surge of anger and pushes it down, fighting his instinct to leap across the couch and tear the Watcher’s throat out.  He forces the demon away, focuses on his surroundings.  The questions Giles casually asks are heavy with implications Angel can’t quite figure out and they draw out the aspects of himself he’s so desperately trying to hide.

“They feed us just enough to survive in the mines.”  

“A means of control.  Enough to sustain their workforce but not enough to spur a rebel army.”  Giles nods, takes a long drink of tea. “And now?  How do our rations compare?” 

“Close.”  

“Then why is it more difficult here than the mines?”

Angel can feel something inside of him tense, knowing that this is when Giles will see him as the Slayer saw him - a demon, not a man.  

“I didn’t say that.”  He attempts as a deflection but Giles raises his eyebrow and he drops his eyes to his nearly empty mug.  “In the mines it’s just other vampires.  Here,” he swallows and forces the words out, “it’s humans.” 

He’s fully expecting Giles to make a move so when he speaks, his tone no different than the previous question, Angel is startled into making eye contact.  

“And I take it that’s a fairly difficult temptation to control?” 

“Yes.”  He doesn’t understand why Giles isn’t moving, why he can’t smell anymore fear on him than he did a few minutes ago.  Angel sits perfectly still. 

“We’re unarmed and at this point, we’ve let our guard down.  You don’t attack.  Why?”  

“My soul.”  

Giles arches an eyebrow, a tell Angel is beginning to recognize as dissatisfaction with his answer. “Your soul does not eradicate the demon, and therefore cannot be reason alone to fight instinct.  Plenty of souled beings choose evil.”  

“Yes.”  Giles makes it too simple, but he doesn’t know how to explain it.  “But everyone else didn’t kill people and have to live with the consequences.”  

Giles nods.  “But you have, and you have to contend with the fact that the desire to continue to do so has not lessened just because you are now in possession of a soul.”  

Angel stares into his mug, bitterly noting the lack of reflection staring back at him.  “How can you say that so casually?  How can you treat me like anything other than a demon?”  

“Because any other demon would not be sitting across from me, carrying on a conversation and pretending as though tea is an adequate substitute for blood.” 

They sit in silence as Angel considers Giles’ words, looking for a counterargument and finding none that he can vocalize.  

“I haven’t lived among humans, not since I got my soul back.”  

“Oh?”

Angel pauses, unsure of why he’s sharing this with Giles but unable to stop the words from spilling from his mouth. “I came after the Great War.  There was too much death, too much destruction.”  

Giles breathes out and his eyes widen.  “You saw it, then?”  

Angel’s eyes darken at the memory of the trenches, the poison gas, the realities of war destroying misplaced glorification.  “Yes.”  

Giles looks like he’s about to say something else, then stops.  Angel takes it as his cue to continue.  

“I took a boat, lived in the cargo hold.  When we landed I realized that as difficult as it had been to live amidst the destruction it was worse to live among those who had not been there.”  Memories he’s not thought about in a long time wash over him and he’s stumbling through city blocks and getting called a beggar.  His Irish accent did him no favors and after a week without sustenance he finds an alley behind a restaurant and makes it his own, keeping to the shadows and surviving off of rats. 

“You’re an awfully long way from New York now,” Giles observes but Angel can hear the question.

“Right before everything happened, a demon found me in the alley and told me I needed to go with him.  Told me I was needed here.”  He laughs bitterly, remembering how he’d believed Whistler.  “We somehow managed to miss what was going on.  The military caught up with us, and that was the last I saw of him.”  

“That’s when you were sent to the mines.”  

“Yes.”  Angel remembers the first years when the military hadn’t developed methods for keeping their new workforce under control, and chose brutality over efficiency.  

“And now you’re here.”  It’s strange to think of so many years gone, marked by backbreaking labor designed to sustain the population he was designed to kill.  Angel drinks the last of his tea, now lukewarm, and tries to remember acceptable social etiquette to indicate he needs to rest. 

He pulls up nothing, of course, because even in the years he was human etiquette was the furthest thing from his mind.  How is it that this version of him, the souled vampire with a century and a half of death on his conscience, is the best he’s ever been?  Whistler had said something about penance, and that his debt might one day be fulfilled, but he can’t think of anything that could possibly absolve him.  His ears ring with the pleas of the hopeless and vacant stares of his victims.

“Can we go back to the cell?”  Etiquette be damned, he thinks.  

Giles clears his throat and sets down his tea cup.  “I was thinking that you’d perhaps like to stay here?”  

A man, Giles age, invited him into his home once.  Angel had returned the favor by raping his wife and killing his children while he’d watched before letting him bleed out over the course of three days.  

“How can you think you’ll be safe?”  His voice is barely a whisper but Giles does not waver.  

“Because I trust you, Angel,” is all he says, giving Angel no time to respond before handing him a pillow and blanket.  He knows he should continue to refuse, but the couch is soft and sleep beckons and it’s too inviting to ignore. 

+++  
Patrol turns up nothing and Buffy is frustrated, pent up energy making her feel like her body is electric.  When her patrol ends she can’t imagine sleep and instead goes to see Willow, the closest thing she has to a friend.  Her room is in the old farmhouse, which has bigger rooms but is harder to heat and therefore not as desirable.  Willow’s been here long before she arrived and it makes sense her rooms are here; her natural inclination to keep the peace makes it logical she would have volunteered to live where no one else wanted to.

When Willow answers the door, bleary eyed and hiding from the blast of cold air, Buffy realizes it might be too early for other people to be awake.  She mumbles an apology but Willow only smiles, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how early it was,” she offers lamely as she follows Willow into the kitchen.  

“No, no, I should have been up anyway.”  Willow pours them each a cup of coffee from her hot plate, and then leans against the arm of the couch. “Is everything ok?”  

“Yeah, things are good.”  Her foot, tapping against the molding behind her gives her away but Willow says nothing, waiting patiently.  It’s the thing she likes most about Willow, her ability to wait rather than to push forward.  They’d met when Buffy first came to the compound and their friendship had grown slowly over the years.  It had taken a long time for Buffy’s walls to come down but Willow had waited and that was what Buffy had needed.  

“Have you met this vampire Giles brought in?  Angel?”  Willow nods, and Buffy continues.  “And?” 

“And what?  He has a soul, I know that.”  

“I know.”  Buffy thinks back to the glamour spell they’d used to get him out of the mines, and how Tara had worked in a detector that would have gone off in the presence of a soulless being.  

“He didn’t know about the Destruction,” Buffy says. 

Willow shrugs.  “That doesn’t really shock me.”  

“Why not?”  Her tone is sharper than it needs to be and the corners of Willow’s mouth turn up. She’s the calm to Buffy’s storm.  

“What are you really asking?’  Willow drinks more of her coffee but doesn’t take her eyes off Buffy.

“I don’t know.  Maybe how Giles can be so blindly trusting?  Or how come Xander isn’t?”  She runs her fingers along the rim of her mug, afraid that if she makes eye contact with Willow her secrets will be laid bare.  

“I think it doesn’t matter about them,” Willow says gently.  “How do you feel about it?” 

“I saw him vamp out yesterday.”  Willow’s eyebrow arches and Buffy shakes her head.  “I was bringing him blood and he vamped.  I wasn’t expecting it.”  

“Why not?  He’s starving, you know that. It’s a natural reaction.”  Willow was a Watcher in training, or as close as she could be given they had little tradition left.  But she was as well versed in demonology as Buffy, if not more so, and her logic was generally bulletproof. 

“But he has a soul!”  Buffy stands up straight, causing Willow to do the same.  “Doesn’t that take the place of the demon?”  

“Buffy,” Willow begins, collecting her words before she speaks.  “A soul doesn’t replace the demon, it just gives him the ability to feel remorse.  He still needs blood to sustain his existence and it’s my guess that being surrounded by humans didn’t help him any, and his control of the demon slipped.”  

“So if he was unrestrained, he would have attacked.”  

“No,” Willow chooses her words carefully.  “His soul would have prevented him from attacking, because he would feel remorse.  But it doesn’t mean that when starving, and being presented with blood, he likely won’t allow the demon enough control to come to the surface.”  

“How do you know all this?”  Buffy asks, her tone dull.  Willow’s knowledge and power as a witch have the ability to make her feel useless, even if Willow would argue that point.  

“Tara and I had to research it in order to tweak the spell.  She knows even more than I do.”  Willow smiles and Buffy gives her a knowing look.  Willow had been scarred after the ending of her last relationship and it had taken time for her friendship with Tara to evolve.

“How’s that going?”  

“She spent the night last night.”  Willow wags her eyebrows, eyes lighting up and looking toward the part of the room sectioned off by a curtain hanging from the ceiling, and Buffy makes a mockingly scandalized face even if her words betray her distraction.  

“And you let me interrupt the morning snuggle!”  Willow laughs and Buffy puts her mug in the sink.  “Thanks for hearing me out.  We’ll talk later?”  

For a moment Willow looks like she might argue Buffy’s departure but then stops.  “Of course,” she says and Buffy lets herself out. 

+++  
Giles is writing in his journal when Buffy knocks on his door, unable to return to her rooms after her conversation with Willow.  Before a few nights ago she never would have dreamed going to his room but there’s been a shift in their relationship since Angel’s arrival.

“Morning Buffy.  I expected you’d be resting.”  He offers her the seat across from him at his small table, and she sinks into the hardwood.  In the background she hears the shower running. 

“Leave the shower on, Giles?”  She teases without thinking, then stiffens when he tells her it’s Angel.  She looks around and sees the blankets and pillow piled on the end of the couch. 

“I thought he’d be going back to the garage,” she says, her tone harsher than she realizes.  

“I didn’t think it was necessary to make him sleep on the concrete floor when I have a perfectly functional couch.”  Giles says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world and she stares openly at him.  

“You’re the head of the Watchers Council and you let a vampire sleep in your house.”  She tries to make her tone matter of fact, but Giles puts his pen down at the accusation.  

“I did.”  

“I don’t understand it, Giles.”  Buffy’s frustration comes through in her tone and she runs her hands through her hair, tied back in a loose ponytail.  Her entire life she’d been taught about the dangers of vampires and demons, and has spent the last 8 years destroying as many as she can.  Angel is an unexpected element in her existence, and it is rocking her to the core even if she can’t quite admit it.   

“I’m not asking you to.”  Giles leans back in his chair.  “But I will tell you that he’s going to be around for a while and it will likely be easier if you can learn to work with him.” 

Buffy can feel herself getting defensive.  “You think I’m unreasonable?”  

“I didn’t say that.  I do think you’re a product of a society where we teach that the world is black and white.”  He’s speaking more candidly than he ever has and it makes her uneasy.  When their roles were clearly delineated she at least knew what was expected of her.

“And the Watchers Council is so into shades of grey.”  She bites her lip when he frowns, wondering if she’s gone too far.  “I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to go from staking vamps to having a conversation with one.”  Her voice is softer and she swallows a bit of her pride, choosing the admission of ignorance over continued combativeness. 

But Giles is looking over her shoulder and she can feel her face warm as she realizes Angel is behind her.  Her focus had been on their conversation and she has no idea how much he’s heard.  

“Angel, join us?”  It sounds like a question but Angel moves like it’s an order and slips into the chair between Buffy and Giles.  

“I’m sorry the water is cool,” Giles makes conversation like he would an old friend instead of a vampire and Buffy feels as surprised as Angel looks. 

“I’m just grateful to be clean,” he finally says and Buffy remembers the grime that coated him when they took him from the mines.  

“I can imagine.”  Giles stands and for a moment she panics, thinking he’s leaving but then he returns with a three mugs filled with tea.  Angel nods his thanks takes a long sip.

“Did you sleep well?” she finally asks.   When he looks at her she sees pain in his face she hadn’t anticipated from a simple question and she looks away.  When her mother died she’d had nightmares for months, and occasionally still does.  If what Giles had said was true, about his soul, then she can’t imagine the things that haunt him.

“Yes.”  But there’s too long a pause, and he won’t look up.  

“You don’t have to lie.”  Her voice is quiet and she meets his stare, feeling herself get lost in the pools of his eyes again.  She forgot he was a demon until he revealed his true face and she can feel her guard slip.  Buffy clears her throat and looks back into her tea.  “I just mean that a couch isn’t always the most comfortable thing to sleep on.”  

Giles is watching her closely and she can feel the back of her neck flush as if though he can see through her. 

“I need to go check in with the Center.  I should return shortly.  In the meantime, Buffy, if you don’t mind staying here that would be much appreciated.”  Buffy nods, trying to ignore the exhaustion that is finally catching up to her. 

“Of course.”  It’s understood that she’s on guard duty, or babysitting duty, and judging from Angel’s bowed head he gets it too.  

Giles grabs his outerwear from the back of the chair and exits, leaving a Slayer, a souled vampire and an awkward silence.  Buffy almost laughs out loud before she catches herself.  It’s amusing from a distance but she’s in the thick of it and she’s not sure her role. 

“So, how’s life outside?” She’s aiming for flip but when Angel shrugs, it’s with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Different.” 

Silence again and Buffy remembers Giles admonitions about working together and takes a deep breath. 

“I have never had a conversation with a souled vampire.  Or with any vampire, actually.”  She’s saying more than she intends to but doesn’t stop.  “I understand that you’re different but the Slayer in me doesn’t understand why you’re not dust.” 

When he looks up her heart accelerates because his expression is so miserable she can’t help but feel pity.

Her voice is smaller.  “I just mean...”

“You don’t owe me anything.”  

Buffy considers that.  “How old are you?” 

“240.”  

Buffy lets out a low whistle.  “That’s a long time, especially today.”  

Angel looks at her intently.  “It’s the stupid ones that get caught.”  

He’s baiting her but she takes it, feeling herself slip down the rabbit hole. “So you’re stupid?”  

“No.  I just didn’t care.”  

Buffy tries to imagine what that would be like, to have such little regard for your own life.  She can’t, because not even when she found her mother’s life did she consider that her own would be worth giving up.  “So you’re a coward?”  

He takes her bait.  “No.  If I was a coward I wouldn’t be here.” 

“Suicide is cowardice?”  Buffy arches an eyebrow.  

“To me, yes.”  She pauses, waiting for more, and he flexes his hands before returning them to tightly clenched fists.  He speaks without looking at her.  “I was raised Catholic.  And I was taught suicide was a sin.”  

For a moment Buffy feels the urge to laugh, thinking about a god fearing vampire.  Organized religion is not a part of their lives; they’re too busy surviving to give thanks to a being that led them here in the first place.  But she’s been taught that there was a time that religion dominated society and influenced decisions at all levels of a person’s life and thinking about how old Angel is, she thinks that it must have been that way when he was alive.  She swallows her laugh, focusing instead on Angel who is staring at the table.  When she dies, it will be after living her entire life in servitude to others, her offenses no worse than anyone else’s.  She doesn’t believe in a heaven, the way it used to be taught, but she believes that she’ll be in a place of rest.  It hits her then, the full weight of what it must be like to be a vampire with a soul.  To be accountable for actions you have no memory of, and to have to spend the rest of your days on the earth knowing you can never do enough. 

“Oh.”  She finally says.  

“The world is different.”  

Buffy shrugs. “It’s the world I’ve always known.”  

Angel looks intently at her, as if he’s just figuring out some critical piece to a puzzle and she stares back under his scrutiny.   He looks like he’s about to say something but is interrupted by the sound of the door opening and Wes pokes his hooded head into the room.

“Giles needs you both down at the Council center.”  He nods a greeting, an afterthought in the midst of preoccupation.  

+++  
The Council center is not what he’d expected, even if Angel had the time to formulate a clear picture.  A run down coop and an underground steel bunker do not fit his idea of a centuries old organization, but the energy of the people in the room are reminiscent of the few encounters he’d had with Watchers.  

Giles greets them and escorts them to a corner of the space.  Angel forces himself not to panic as the walls without windows and underground feeling remind him of the mines.  He leans against the wall and tries to blend in with the shadows as Buffy speaks with people he vaguely recognizes from his first night here. 

Buffy’s profile is turned towards him and he stares longer than he should, soaking in her being.  The demon in him rages at the nearness of a Slayer without fighting for a taste of her blood which is allegedly aphrodisiac.  But the man in him, instincts long buried behind survival and shame stirs, an ache that he cannot tame when he thinks about Buffy. She’s strong, and bold, and beautiful and he finds himself drawn to her.  From his place against the wall he envisions closing the space between them and folding her into his arms, taking comfort in her.  How long has it been since he’s had comfort?  The ache deepens and he folds his arms across his midsection as though it is a physical pain.  

Buffy eventually turns from her conversation and makes eye contact with him.  He fights the urge to drop his gaze to the ground even though he knows he’s been caught.  She eventually breaks the stare but not before he notices a flush creeping up her neck.

“Angel,” she says and her voice is electric.  “This is Willow, a witch who helped break you from the mines.”  Willow smiles and waves.

“Nice to meet you.  Well, again,” she says and he remembers her feeding him in the truck and that she hadn’t dismissed him.  He nods at her and then follows her gaze to Giles who is gathering people.  The room quiets.

“I know many of you are in need of sleep so I will keep this short.”  Giles speaks with an authority Angel has not heard in their conversations.  “We have confirmed that there are three vampires who are leading the rebellion, all of them old and likely powerful.  We don’t know the full details of their plan yet but Willow and Tara are working on that.”   Willow smiles and the woman next to her, presumably Tara, ducks her head.  “In the meantime I suggest getting some rest.  When we have more to go on, you’ll hear from me.”  

“How do we know the information is reliable?” The voice in the crowd causes a murmur and Giles gestures for quiet. 

“Doyle, our messenger from the Powers, successfully led us to the vampire with a soul.  From there we’ve confirmed the existence of those attempting to lead this rebellion.” 

“We’re trusting a vampire?”  This time the voice belongs to a black man in his mid twenties, who is standing next to Xander.

“Yes, Gunn, we are.”  Giles replies mildly.  

“And at no point we’re stopping to ask ourselves why a vampire would be interested in helping us?”  Gunn stands straighter and folds his arms across his chest before turning his gaze to Angel.  “Anything to add, vampire?” 

Angel shrinks under the intensity of his gaze, pressing his back against the wall.  There was a time when he would have reveled in the attention but that time has long since passed and he finds himself cowering in the face of the unknown.  Even if he could bring himself to speak, what would he say?  Angel can feel the animosity rolling off Gunn in waves; no platitudes will erase years of indoctrinated hate.  

“This is what we have to go on, and it’s more than we had two days ago.”  

“Oh, ok.  So we’re going to trust a demon to help us fight demons.  Sounds like a great plan.”  Gunn’s tone makes Angel flinch.

“Listen, man, until you get one of them bone crushing visions don’t be questioning the messenger.”  Doyle speaks from across the room and while his tone is casual Angel can see that his eyes are steel.  

“Enough.”  Buffy steps forward until she’s next to Giles.  “Can we please focus on what matters?  We have to stop a rebellion and we’re not going to do it if we’re too busy fighting.  Trust Giles.”    
“And the vampire?  Should we trust the vampire?”  This time it’s Xander, and Angel remembers the taser pressed into his back.  He looks to the ground, unwilling to let his face betray him when Buffy speaks.

“Yes.  I think we can trust him.”  Angel’s head snaps up and his mouth drops for a moment before he can collect himself.  

“I hope you’re not wrong.”  Xander shakes his head in disgust and then leaves the room, which is all the crowd needs to determine the meeting has ended.  People trickle out until it’s just a handful left and the entire tone changes.  Giles sits down and gestures for others to do the same but Angel remains where he is, unsure of himself and his role in the group. 

“That could have gone better,” Willow says as she pulls a chair to join the circle.  

“And it could have gone worse,” Wesley says, his tone grim.  “No one revolted at least.”  

“Not yet anyway.  I have my concerns that there may be one, led by Xander.”  

Buffy shifts in her chair and turns to Giles.  “I’ve told you before, he’s all talk.”  Giles rubs the bridge of his nose, and Angel thinks it’s a conversation they’ve had before.  

“I think that’s underestimating him, Buffy.  He came to us willingly, but that was because was following you.  He still harbors loyalty to the military.”  

She looks like she’s going to reply but says nothing, looking away from Giles. 

“Tara?  Willow?  Where do we stand?”  

Willow sighs and looks at Tara.  “As good as can be expected, but we still don’t have much to go on.”  

Giles sighs and looks like he’s about to say something when Doyle gasps.

“Vis-” he manages to get out before falling forward out of his chair, landing on his knees and gripping his head in his hands.  Angel freezes as the people around him launch into activity but he cannot tear his gaze from Doyle who is writhing on the floor in pain.  After what feels like an eternity he stills and opens his eyes. 

“Large statue, stone, sword sticking out of it.  Saw it wake up, swallow the world.  Vamps were there, seemed to be runnin’ the show.”  He looks up to meet Giles’ stare.  “Not good, man.  Not good.”  

“Were any of them Spike, Drusilla or Darla?”  Willow helps Doyle into this chair, where he bows his head into his hands.  

“Seemed to be, yeah.  Plus a really old dude, face looked like a weathered bat.” 

“The Master,” Angel breathes.

“The same vampire you spoke of earlier?”  Giles’ stare bores into Angel.  “Powerful?”  

Angel nods and Giles briefly closes his eyes before turning back to the group. “Very well.  I suppose we have something to focus on then.”  

“Were there any other details about the statue?”

Doyle looks at Wes and frowns.  “One of them said something about a cat?”  

Wes nods and Giles reaches for a stack of books.  “Let’s start with what we have.”

+++  
Eight hours later and Angel can no longer focus on the words in the book in front of him.  Exhaustion is pushed aside only by hunger and he fights to push both out of the forefront of his mind.  

“Giles, I have to call it a night,” Doyle says from where he’s slumped in a chair across the room.  Willow and Tara had left hours ago to work on a spell to narrow their search and Buffy had retired to get rest so that she could patrol.  

“Of course.”  Giles barely looks up from where he is sitting, open books and notepads scattered in front of him.  

Doyle rises and clears his throat.  “Um, Angel?  Maybe you’d want to crash with me tonight?”  He looks up, surprised.  “I figure give someone else a rest from housing a dead guy for a night.” 

Angel looks at Giles.  For permission he realizes.

“Of course, of course,” Giles says, sounding a bit flustered.  Wes watches with interest but says nothing.  

“Right then.”  The matter is settled and Angel follows Doyle across the farm to his room, which is in the back edge of the barn.  There is no indication Doyle lives here other than his lingering scent but it’s enough to keep Angel from being able to enter. 

“Oh, yeah, right.  Angel, come in.”  Doyle throws his jacket across the table and grabs a bottle of whiskey from the shelf next to the bed.

“Drink?”  Angel nods and downs the drink Doyle hands him, letting the whiskey burn his throat.    
“Stuff is hard to come by these days, but it’s the only thing that takes the edge off after a vision.”  He refills both of their glasses, and they drink in silence. 

“You’re not real talkative, then?” Doyle arches an eyebrow over the top of his glass. 

Angel feels a smile lift the corners of his lips.  “Not generally, no.” 

“Right, well I’ll cut to the chase.  You were in my vision, Angel.” 

He freezes, glass paused midair.  “Your vision?”  

“Yeah, that mind splitting thing from earlier.  You were pretty clearly featured.”  

“But, you didn’t say anything.  Before.”  Angel knits his brow in confusion.  

“I know.  These visions aren’t always so clear, you know?  No roadmap, no instructions.” Doyle turns the empty glass around in his fingers, not making eye contact with Angel.  “I couldn’t get a sense of what you were doin’ there, Angel.  And while I’m sure these people are great and all, I’m not sure they’ll continue to let you crash on their floor if they think you might be playing for the other side.” 

“You saw me?  With Darla and Drusilla?”  

Doyle looks up.  “Yeah.” 

Angel stares at the bottom of his glass.  “And then you invited me into your apartment.”  

“Yeah.”  Doyle scratches the back of his neck and refills their glasses.  “That’s the thing.  I’ve been working pretty damn hard these past years to keep to myself but the Powers apparently have had other big plans because your face keeps poppin’ up in my noggin.”  

Angel stares as Doyle takes a long drink.  

“I’ve seen it all, Angel.  What you’ve done as Angelus, your years after you got a soul, the mines.  And I got it all in technicolor until I finally found these people.”  Angel leaves his glass untouched on the table in front of him.  Doyle won’t look at him.

“Why?” his voice is barely a whisper.  

Doyle laughs without humor.  “Been asking that myself, but shockingly no answer.”  

“All of it.  You’ve seen all of it.”  

“Thought we covered that.”  

Images flood Angel’s mind and he downs the drink in front of him before closing his hand around the glass letting the pain as shards embed themselves in his hand.  “You’ve seen who I am, what I’ve done.  Why am I here?”  

“Easy, man.”  Doyle hands Angel a rag then leans against the wall.  “If the Powers wanted you out of commission they’d let you rot in the mines.  They wanted you out, and they wanted you here.  I’m just the messenger, remember?” 

“These people, Giles, they just believed you?”  

“No, not initially.  But seeing is believing and after the first time he saw me have a vision he decided it was worth a shot.”  Doyle refills his glass and almost slips, the whiskey catching up. 

“And they don’t know you’re a demon?”  Doyle jerks his head up and narrows his eyes. 

“How did you---” he starts to ask and Angel arches an eyebrow.  “Right, smell.  Vampires are creepy bastards.  Don’t tend to pal around with them too much.”  Grins at Angel.  “No offense of course.” 

Angel feels himself relaxing, the whiskey warming his body and relaxing his muscles.  “Not my preferred companions, either.”  

Doyle chuckles.  “I’m half demon, Brachen.  And no, they don’t know.  Sure they seem like good people and all but you just never know these days.  One moment you’re their best bud and the next you’re the spiky guy they’re throwing out of the house.”  

“They took in a vampire.” 

“Yeah, as a glorified pet. I prefer my freedom.”

They sit in silence for a long moment and Angel feels heavy.  This is the most at ease he’s felt in years, the most normal thing he’s done in years.  Across the table from him Doyle picks at the label on the bottle.  

“I was born in Ireland.”  

“I know.  Galway, yeah?”  Angel nods.  “I’m from Dublin, myself.  You wouldn’t recognize it, not anymore.  Got themselves an industrial revolution, cities.  Bit different from the days when you were part of the mortal coil.” 

He sees the house he grew up in, his mother drained dropped on the floor, smells his sister’s innocence and his father’s fear.  Closes his eyes against the onslaught of memories. 

“Thinkin’ it’s time to turn in.  These watchers will be wantin us to do more blasted research tomorrow.  I think the visions should get me excused, personally.”  As Doyle talks he stumbles through the apartment, tossing Angel a blanket and pillow before collapsing into the bed. “I get the bed.  Besides, from what I’ve seen of where you’ve been sleeping lately the floor is downright luxurious.”  

Angel doesn’t sleep until Doyle’s breathing comes evenly and his pulse slows.  Just before he succumbs to the darkness he realizes that Doyle has seen everything he’s ever done, and he still trusts him enough to fall asleep.

He sleeps better than he has in years.

+++  
When Doyle and Angel haven’t returned by mid afternoon Buffy offers to go to the room they’d assigned Doyle.  She claims it’s because she has a headache from research but avoids Giles’ look as she slips into her coat.  

The walk is short and she plays with the stake in her pocket as she waits for the door to open.  She brought it along more out of habit than anything else but wonders, briefly, if she would be able to use it if the door opened to a bloodbath. 

No, not if.  She shakes herself.  She’s the Slayer and he’s a vampire.

Then the door opens and Angel steps aside to let her in, his shirt unbuttoned.  Buffy feels her breath catch before finishes closing it. 

“Buffy.”  

She nods a greeting and ignores the pounding in her chest as Angel says her name and walks past him.  Doyle is sprawled on the bed snoring lightly and she smells the booze before she sees the empty bottle on the table.

“Fun night?”  

Angel rubs the back of her neck.  “It’s Doyle’s.  He says it helps with the visions.”  From the bed Doyle slaps at something on his face before rolling over. 

“Clearly.”  Angel looks out of place and Buffy finds herself wanting to make it better even if she can’t explain why.  “I just came to make sure everything was ok.  You guys abandoned the research ship.”  

Angel ducks his head.  “I’m sorry.” 

Buffy smiles a little in spite of herself.  “Don’t blame you.  It’s not my idea of a party either.”  

“Any progress?”  

“Not yet.  We think we’ve narrowed it down enough for Willow and Tara to work their mojo.”  Angel just looks at her.  “We don’t have a lot of books here, so when we need more than what we have they can do some spell thingy and find the information elsewhere.”  

He nods and they stand in silence. 

“Thank you,” Angel finally says and she furrows her brow.  “For yesterday.”   Buffy tries to come up with something Angel could thank her for and draws a blank: she’d hit him, and then fled when he’d changed. Her face must reflect her confusion because Angel looks down and mutters, “for trusting me.” 

It takes her a moment before she gets it.  “Oh, the thing with Xander and Gunn?  No big.”  But the look on Angel’s face is enough to tell her that to him, it is a big deal.  “They’re all talk.  And likely a little wigged out.”  

“They’re angry.”  

“Oh, sure.   We all grew up together, in the other camp around here that’s run by the military.”  Buffy leans back against the wall behind her.  “When I went to run, they came with me and we all ended up here but sometimes I don’t think they’re fully invested in our mission.”    

“And you’re willing to...trust.  Trust me.”  Angel stumbles on the last few words and avoids eye contact with her.  

“Yeah, I mean, you haven’t given me a reason not to.”  The words sound lame even to her but she’s not sure she could even explain why she does.  “We’re the product of a black and white world.  I’m learning to see grey.”  

Angel looks at her and smiles softly and Buffy can feel her heart speed up.  She hasn’t seen him look anything other than morose since his arrival and she’s surprised at how it lights up his face.  She lets her gaze linger, then frowns, noticing the hollows in his cheeks.    

“Do you need to eat?  To feed?”  Buffy forces herself to maintain eye contact and so she sees the storm in his eyes.  “I just mean, I figure you’re probably hungry.” 

A long moment passes before he answers and when he does all softness is gone. “I’m fine.”

“Sure ye are,” Doyle mutters from the bed, where his head is buried under a pillow.  

Angel turns sharply and won’t look back at Buffy.

There's an awkward silence and she considers the things she could say: that he shouldn't be ashamed, that she was caught off guard yesterday but now she'd be prepared, that she hated seeing him in discomfort.  Instead she says nothing and the silence grows heavier.  

“Do you want to go for a walk?”  Buffy finally asks and when he nods she releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Doyle mutters something from the bed as they close the door behind them, Buffy leading the way down the stairs to the dark basement.  She fumbles for a moment and plays it off as if though she cannot find the lock, even if her heart is about to pound out of her chest.  When she finally opens the door her words come out rushed.  

“I know our compound might not look like much from the outside but we’ve tried to make it as functional as possible. These are our passages and they run throughout the farm.”  Buffy gestures for Angel to follow her into the passage, which is dark and cold, and then stops.  “Oh, no shoes.”    
Angel looks at her for a moment then looks at his own feet, pale against the dark ground, before meeting her eyes.  “It’s ok.” 

“The passages are cold and uneven, Angel.”  It’s the first time she’s said his name and she can feel herself flush at the way it rolls over her tongue.  

“It’s ok,” he repeats, this time with a hint of self loathing.  Her cheeks grow hotter and she turns away from him before she allows herself time to think about it. 

“Follow me, then.”  

She’s been in the passages dozens of times as they mapped escape routes and patrolled to ensure no one has found them from the outside, but they have never seemed as cramped as they do now.  Buffy leads the way and Angel stays close enough behind where he bumps into her when she stops abruptly.  

“Sorry,” he mutters and pulls back, the sudden distance between them distracting.   There is a noise down the tunnel and she forces herself to focus. 

“Do you hear that?”  she whispers and Angel goes completely still.  

“Vampires,” he breathes, confirming what she already knows.  

Buffy can’t tell how many there are and for a second considers retreating with Angel before dismissing the idea as she realizes they're in the tunnel leading to the Center. 

"What's the plan?" Angel asks and she holds up her stake. They move silently and they catch up to them fifty yards down the tunnel.  

Buffy can tell immediately these are not the vampires she's used to facing, the half starved desperate ones. There are four and they move with purpose. A few more turns and they'll be at the entrance to the bunker.

"Excuse me?" They turn to look at her, gold eyes glowing and teeth bared. "Don't you know it's not polite to trespass?" Adrenaline courses through her.

"Slayer." 

The vampire lunges and Buffy steps aside, letting his momentum propel him into the wall of the tunnel before driving her stake into his back.

The other three growl and she cocks her head. "So, who's next?"

"Angelus," one of the vampire says with a smile peppered with fangs. "We've been looking for you."

Buffy feels Angel go rigid behind her. 

"What do you want with him?" She asks, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. 

"That's not your concern," the vampire relaxes his posture.   "He's the one were after. If you turn him over well be on our way."

"Not going to happen."  Buffy voice is clipped.

The vampires laugh and the one in front snorts.  "A Slayer protecting Angelus?  Darla will love this."

Angel growls, low in his chest, and Buffy feels the hair on her neck rise. 

"Tell Darla Angel isn't going anywhere." Buffy closed the distance between her and the vampires and lands a punch on his jaw. He recovers quickly and she ducks below his fist, propelling him to the ground with a kick to the knee. He stays down while the next one comes at her with a kick to the head, which spins her to the ground. There's the sound of fists hitting flesh behind her but she can't spare a look as she jumps to her feet and pushes the vampire back with a flurry of punches. The air behind her shifts and she ducks, grabbing the foot that flies over her head and twists, feeling bone crunch. The vampire howls and goes down and she spins, driving her stake into his chest. 

A kick to her lower back sends her and her stake sprawling through the cloud of dust and she sees Angel fighting the third vampire down the tunnel, barely fending him off. Buffy somersaults forward and tackles the vampire away from Angel. Her fist clips him across the chin and she rolls out from under his body and slams her foot into his chin, rendering him motionless.  

Buffy leaps to her feet and pulls the other vampire off Angel, who is backed against the wall.  The vampire shrugs off her hold and uses the momentum to slam her against the other wall, knocking the wind out of her.  The vampire grins but before he can sink his teeth into her neck he explodes, and Angel stands in front of her, vampire face on full display and stake in hand. In another time and place she would be fearful but now, she's exhilarated. 

“Angel,” she breathes and coughs.  The remaining vampire regains consciousness and rises. 

“Angelus,” he sneers, but stays where he is.  

“What does she want with me?”  Angel speaks quietly, but with confidence. 

“Not my job to know,” the vampire spits.  

Buffy crosses to him and closes her fist around his neck, slamming him against the wall. 

“Try again.” 

He claws at her hands but she’s driven by adrenaline.  

“She wouldn't say. Just that I had to get him in one piece." 

"How did you know about the tunnels?"

"Drusilla had a vision. Gave us directions. No idea it was a Watcher compound."

Buffy releases him and drives a stake through his chest before he has time to blink. There's silence, save for her heart pounding in her chest.

When she turns back to face Angel he's leaning with a hand against the wall.  It gives him support, and blocks his face from her.

She takes a few steps forward.  "Angel?" 

"Get away," he barks and looks down the tunnel away from her.  "You shouldn't have to see me like this."  

"It's ok." The more he closes himself off the more she feels captivated. Moth to a flame, she thinks.

He flinches but says nothing when she puts her hand on his arm and pulls it away from the wall.  She stares at him without speaking until he gives in and looks at her, guarded gold eyes meeting hers with hesitation.  Buffy has staked her share of vampires but she's rarely been close enough to study them. She takes in every groove of Angel’s face, follows the ridge on his brow down to the gold eyes.  Fangs stick out from under his lip, which is turned down. 

The adrenaline from doing battle emboldens her and Buffy raises her hand, letting her fingers rest lightly on his temple.  Angel closes his eyes when she makes contact and freezes.

"I'm sorry," she says as she withdraws her hand, suddenly embarrassed.  "Did I hurt you?"

"No."  His voice is hoarse.  "I haven't been....touched, in a long time." 

Buffy thinks of her own aversion to displays of affection but then imagines a life without any human contact.  She studies him as he squeezes his eyes closed and turns to the wall again, digging.  When he turns to her, his face is human again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. 

"Is it hard?"  She forgives herself these trespasses as a casualty of their experiences in the tunnel. 

He nods.  "Yes."

"Why?"

"I may have a soul but the demon is still there.  Calling on the strength means relinquishing a level of control, no matter how small."  Angel won't look at her, as if he's ashamed.

"You saved my life. Thank you." Her words have the desired effect and he looks back at her.

"He was going to kill you." He's quiet but matter of fact.

"But he's a vampire." 

"Yes." 

"I didn't expect you to actually kill one of your own."  The words are heavy in the space between them and his expression darkens.

"I'm not like them."  There's an intensity behind his words and it sends a chill up her spine.

"I'm starting to understand that," is all she can muster.

+++  
"You were attacked in the tunnels." Giles repeats her words and they differ only in inflection.  Whereas hers had been marked by the weariness of coming down from battle Giles' are laced with urgency and anger.  "How did they find the tunnels? Find us?" 

“They said something about Drusilla and a vision,” Buffy says tiredly.  She’s leaning against the wall, Angel by her side.  The energy from the fight has finally left them and she wants nothing more than to return to her apartment and sleep.  

“A vision.  Angel, you’d mentioned something about this earlier.”  Wes is flipping through his notes.  

“Yes!  You said something about them the other night!”  Willow stands excitedly from the couch where she’d been sitting, knocking a book to the floor.  She smiles sheepishly and Buffy forces herself to smile back.  

“Angel?”  Giles prompts and next to her, Angel shifts. 

“She had the sight when I met her.”  His voice is hollow.  

“When you say the sight, you mean the ability to see the future?”  Wes’ pen hovers over his pad. 

“Yes.” 

“And she was able to use it to guide the vampires here.  So it’s only a matter of time before more come.”  Willow’s voice has a hint of panic and Tara reaches for her hand and gently pulls her back down.  

“Is that likely?”  The question is directed at Angel and Buffy thinks that if he could, he’d melt on the spot.  

“No.”  Angel closes his eyes and his words are a whisper.  “When she was human, maybe.”

Giles frowns.  “But not after she was turned?  That’s unusual.”  

Doyle is slumped on the couch, his eyes bleary from the vision or the booze or both.  “That’s because Angel drove her insane first.  It wasn’t pretty, so I’ll spare you the details, but the result?  An insane vamp who gets visions.”  

There’s a silence and Buffy can feel her insides turn.  Angel’s arms are wrapped around his midsection and he looks like he is going to be sick and she can’t reconcile him with the man who saved her live a half hour ago.  

Giles rubs the bridge of his nose, and exhales loudly.  “Thank you, Doyle.  I suppose that leaves us in a tight position.  Assuming, on the side of caution, that Drusilla is able to guide more vampires here we should prepare.  Guards at the entrance of the tunnels, increased patrols.  Willow, Tara, perhaps you can reinforce the wards?”  

Tara nods, and Buffy silently thanks Giles for turning the attention from Angel even if she can’t quite bring herself to look at the vampire.   

“Buffy, can you please touch base with Xander and Gunn and discuss patrols?”  She nods.  

Wes sets his pad down.  “We need a plan of attack.  Going on the defense will only go so far.  We need to figure out what they want and how to stop it.”  

“Angel,” Buffy says suddenly.  How had she forgotten to mention this?  “The vampires are after Angel.”  

There’s silence.  Giles is the first one to collect himself.  “Did they mention why?”  

“Said they didn’t know and were only following Darla’s orders.”  

Giles rubs his forehead.  “We’re attacking this thing blind!  We have pieces of the puzzle but nothing conclusive and we’re losing ground.”  

“What about a locator spell?”  Tara is quiet but Giles turns to her.  “Maybe we can figure out where they are?” 

Wes nods.  “How soon?”  

Willow ticks something off on her fingers.  “We need a new moon, so maybe three days?”  

The conversation continues around her but Buffy drowns it out, letting it wash over her until it’s just background noise.  Angel stands next to her, unmoving, and she wants to reach out to him and let know that she’s there, that she can escape her preconceived notions and understand him, but something stops her.  What does it mean to drive someone insane?  Images flash in her mind and she thinks in some ways, it would be easier to know but cannot imagine how she would form the words.  

“Buffy?”  Giles is speaking to her and she nods and stands upright.  

“I’ll go find Xander now, we’ll figure out a plan.”  Her voice sounds far away but he doesn’t notice.  She pushes off the wall and walks up the stairs, aware that Angel follows her but she doesn’t stop until they’re out of earshot of the people in the bunker.  

“What?”  She can’t bring herself to turn around. 

“I…” he trails off, and Buffy turns around, irritated.  

“What, Angel?”  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“You don’t owe me anything.”  Her words have an edge but the tension inside her begins to uncoil.  

“I know.”  

“Then why did you follow me?  Why not wait until later?”  Angel stares at her, but says nothing and she exhales loudly.  “I have work to do.”  

She spins on her heel and storms out of the building into the cold, trying not to falter when he doesn’t call her back.

+++  
Buffy’s name dies on his Angel’s lips as she walks outside, leaving him standing in the empty room.  He’s alone for the first time in almost half a century and despite longing for this moment since his capture, he cannot move past the void Buffy’s departure has left.  His temple still tingles from her touch, and he closes his eyes as he remembers her soft fingertips.  Angelus commanded human touch as his beck and call and when he had been souled, he’d sought isolation.  But it was only when the isolation from humanity was forced that he had realized how much he truly longed for it.  And that she touched him when he had changed...Angel thinks he would stake a thousand vampires if it means one more touch.  

When he was in the mines, he’d imagine that Darla, and Dru, and Spike had all been likewise imprisoned.  He’d not been able to wish their deaths as they were the only connection to anything he’d ever been, his only sense of self, but now he wishes they had become piles of ash if it means he could erase Buffy’s look of disgust.  Angel feels his soul whither when he thinks about what he’s done to Drusilla; Angelus’ greatest accomplishment is his most depraved failure and he cannot imagine how he will make Buffy see him as a man instead of a monster.  

At that, a laugh bubbles in his throat but when it reaches his lips it sounds like a dying man gasping for air.  To think that a Slayer would view a vampire as anything more than an abomination drives him to his knees as he understands the full weight of this realization.  

That a Slayer would love a vampire?  This is the first time Angel has allowed himself to think the words and considers the absurdity of loving a human, a Slayer, someone he has just met, tries to convince himself it’s an illusion and that she is the first person to show compassion in over a century.  But his denial is futile and Angel feels his insides twist at the irony that he has never felt more alone. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there when someone touches his shoulder.  

“Hey man, easy,” Doyle says as Angel flinches at the sudden contact.  “Thought you might want this.”  

Angel snatches the container of blood but forces himself to bring it to his lips slowly, ignoring his shaking hand.  Living among people forces him to get his bloodlust back to the level of control that has disappeared after years in the mines. 

“Thank you.”  The blood is cold and congealed but he forces himself to savor it and wills himself to believe it’s enough. 

“You’re looking a little on the unstable side, sittin in an empty hallway by yourself.”  Doyle offers a hand to help Angel up.  “Probably a good thing I found you and not one of these soldier boys.”  

When Angel doesn’t respond Doyle shakes his head.  “Sorry about that, down there.  Didn’t mean to reveal intel we were keeping secretive.  But hey, it wasn’t you, it was the demon.”  

Angel has no interest in small talk.  “What do you want from me?”  

“At the moment, I want you to get up off the floor.  You’re a mess.  Also?  That crush you have on the Slayer?  Probably a dead end.”  Angel shoots him a look and Doyle holds up in hands in mock surrender.  “Just offering my advice!” 

Angel stands and Doyle nods.  “There ya go.  In the meantime, Giles needs to see you.”   

Regaining, or gaining, Buffy’s trust will likely be a dead end but it gives him something to focus on and he follows Doyle back down into the bunker.  

“Angel.”  Giles is sitting with a person Angel hasn’t met in the far end of the bunker, and gestures for him to join them.  He does, reluctantly leaving Doyle who is making a beeline for a pretty brunette on the other side of the room.  

“I assume Buffy went to find Xander and the others?”  Giles raised eyebrows ask a different question but Angel just nods.   

“Angel, this is Jenny.”  She’s petite, brunette and pretty but Angel’s attention is drawn to her tight ponytail, rigid posture and toned physique.  It’s over he thinks, Giles has realized there’s no redemption for one such as he and is sending him back.  

“Soldier.”  It’s not meant as an accusation but she stiffens and Giles tilts his head.  

“Vampire.”  She rises from her seat and despite the fact she’s significantly shorter than he is, her presence is intimidating.  Out of habit he backs down and she relaxes slightly.  “And that’s former soldier.”  

“Jenny is not here on military business.”  Giles gestures for them to sit although no one does.  “She was guided here by a messenger for the Powers, much as you and Doyle were.”  He looks at her and she nods.

“Jenny Calendar is the American version of my name, Angelus.  The name you would recognize is Janna Kalderash.”  Angel can feel himself tense and he takes a step away from her without realizing he’s made a conscious decision.  The words elicit the reaction she seems to be expecting and she raises her chin.  “You recognize the name, then.” 

“The clan that cursed me with a soul.”  The words come out in a hiss and he can feel the tension building within him.

She nods. “Yes.”  

“What do you want from me?” 

“What makes you think I’d want anything from you, vampire?”  Her lip curls and she stands up straighter.  “I have a message to deliver.  The Powers have deemed it necessary to anchor your soul, and I am here to perform the necessary ritual.”  

“Anchor my soul?”  

“When my people cursed you, they put in a loophole meant to ensure that you suffered as much as possible.”  He ignores the note of smugness in her tone, her emphasis on my people.  He tries to imagine the hatred that has been ingrained in her since she was born, hatred directed at demons and vampires and him.  Something inside him shrivels and he closes his eyes against the deluge of memories.  

“The elders in my tribe thought it wise to make it so that you can lose your soul.”  Jenny pauses and Giles narrows his eyes. 

“Lose his soul?  How would that be a punishment?”  

“Because then it would unleash Angelus,” Angel whispers.

“They devised it so that if you achieved perfect happiness, it would trigger the escape clause.”  

“Ensuring that Angel would live his existence in a state of constant despair.”  Giles’ gaze is unfocused. 

“I didn’t know.  How could I not know?”  

Jenny crosses her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes.  “I suppose they figured their punishment would have prevented any chances of happiness, let alone perfect happiness.”  

Angel feels himself shaking as she speaks, knowing that there is no response he could give that would justify his anger.  He has never sought out happiness, and cannot imagine anything that could replace his guilt but just the knowledge that Angelus could be released fills him with fear and rage and distrust.  

“I should have known.”  A whisper, defeated.  

“You said you’re here to fix this?  To permanently anchor his soul?”  Giles folds his arms across his chest. 

“Yes.  I was approached by a messenger from the Powers who told me that Angelus will play a role in a coming event and it was necessary to keep his soul where it is.”  Jenny turns to Angel and smiles without humor.  “Guess this means you can be happy, vampire.”  

Angel backs away from her, unable to stand under the malice in her eyes.

“Jenny, perhaps you should speak to Willow and Tara about the specifics of the spell.”  He gestures across the room to where they’re huddled on the floor looking at a book.  “You will likely find them of some use.”  

“Yes, of course.  Thank you Giles.”  Her voice carries none of the contempt directed at Angel and her smile reaches her eyes, and she doesn’t glance at Angel again before joining Willow and Tara across the room.  

Giles waits until she’s out of earshot before approaching Angel.  “I had no idea what she was going to share, if that’s worth anything.”  Angel looks up and he knows his surprise is evident in his eyes.  “She simply told me there was a message from Powers that needed to be shared, and given that we’ve had our share of messages lately…”

Giles trails off and Angel nods, not bothering to point out that it wasn’t that Jenny had a message, but that Giles cared enough to be concerned about his feelings that procured the look of surprise.  

He manages a nod.  

“You’ve had quite an eventful few days.”  Giles delivers the words drily but at that moment Angel has never heard anything funnier and he can’t contain himself; he laughs.  But it’s mirthless because even if his existence in the mines had been miserable he knew his place and he didn’t hurt anyone.  

Giles raises an eyebrow but waits for Angel to speak.  “I have never been very good at living among people.” 

“None of us have been your supper, so I suppose that’s a good place to start.”  Angel starts before realizing that Giles is joking, and smiles slightly.  

“I hurt Buffy.”  The words spill out before Angel has time to reconsider them.  

Giles looks alarmed and Angel can see the force of will it takes not to step away from the vampire.  “In the tunnels?  How?  She didn’t seem to be in physical harm.”  

Angel shakes his head and looks down.  “No.  After.  Talking about Drusilla.”  

Giles regards him for a moment before speaking. “Ah.  I don’t think it’s so much that you hurt her, I think it’s that she’s still sorting you out.  I wouldn’t be too worried, she’ll be back in sorts tomorrow.”  But Angel says nothing and he can feel Giles stare.  “But it’s more than that.”  

He can’t make eye contact so he stares at his hands.  

“Be careful, Angel.  She may be the Slayer but she’s only so strong.”  A warning, but not the one he had expected and when he looks up, Giles doesn’t look angry like he’d imagined.  Instead he looks resigned.  “I should return to research.  If you remember the way back to my rooms you’re welcome to rest.”  

He knows Giles is taking a risk but he simply nods.  It’s not until he’s safely within the dirt walls he no longer feels Jenny’s eyes boring into his back. 

+++  
Angel wakes alone for the first time in decades and lays on the couch in silence for a long moment.  There are no cars, no ticking clocks, no hum of industry; the noises that once polluted the human landscape are gone.  The room is warm and he walks around, letting the floor warm his bare feet.  

Angel feels like an intruder, even if Giles invited him and knows he’s there.  It’s been a long time since he’s been in someone else’s home, and even longer since he’s had a place to call his own home that he can’t quite remember what’s expected of him.  For a moment he simply stands still and lets the simple freedom of having no responsibilities wash over him.  

Giles’ journal is opened on the table and Angel reads only a sentence before he forces himself to stop, fearing an invasion of privacy could destroy his strongest alliance.  A mug sits on the table with a tea bag mushed into the bottom and Angel can smell it’s weak from multiple uses.  The wall has a few photographs, a much younger Giles with friends, or family or both.  He’s smiling and happy, relaxed.  

The door opens and Angel freezes, eyes darting for a place to hide and finds none.  But then Buffy stands in the entrance and Angel feels himself relax slightly. 

“Buffy.”  

She jumps but collects herself quickly.  “Angel.  I’m going patrolling and thought you might want to come along.” She speaks quickly, like the words are fighting to leave her mouth.  

"Okay." Angel hides his confusion and follows her out the door, accepting the stake she hands him.

For a few minutes they walk in silence.  The farm is larger than any Angel has ever seen but he reminds himself that he’s used to families growing their own food.  He’d lived through industrialization, of course, but his attention had been on humans, not their technology.  Angel wishes he could have seen it in its heyday, and imagines people working under the hot sun.  

"Jenny Calendar is pretty set on hating you." Angel looks at Buffy in surprise, but she stares ahead.

"Yes."

"And this doesn't bother you?" She's going for indifferent.

"What I did to her family," he sets his jaw, pushes forward. "I deserve her hatred."

"I thought you weren't the demon." She looks sideways at him, but turns away when their eyes meet.

"It's not that simple."

Buffy stops and spins to face him. "Then make it that simple!" She sets her shoulders and folds her arms across her chest. "It's not in my nature, my genetic make up, my DNA to give a shit about you beyond a resource to our cause but I do, dammit, and I need to understand."

Angel forces himself not to break her stare, letting her words ring in his ears. Survival instincts keep the surprise off his face but he can feel something in the pit of his stomach.

"I was 24 when I walked down an alley in Galway with Darla, because she told me she would show me the world. I was the worst type of human, self indulgent and lazy and worthless and accustomed to getting what I wanted, so I followed her." He pauses but her face gives away nothing. "For over one hundred years the sole purpose of my existence was to bring pain and suffering to everyone I encountered. And I did it...with a song in my heart." He swallows and takes an unnecessary breath through his nose.

"And then your soul was returned." Her face remains emotionless.

"I am still a monster. I still have the desires of a vampire and I have to fight them, every moment of every day."

"But you do."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because some part of me believes that one day I can make amends. That I can be forgiven." Angel swallows hard on the last word and looks at the ground.

"Do you want to drink from me?" His head snaps up and he stares at Buffy. She's taken a step closer and tilts her head slightly to the left. Angel's eyes are locked on her jugular, vein dancing under her pale skin.

"Buffy." Every instinct is screaming at him to drink, to sink his teeth into her flesh and let her essence warm his dead body.

"I mean, why not? You'd be gone before my body was cold." She takes another step towards him leaving less than a foot of space between them and he can feel the warmth of her body.

"Buffy," hoarser this time.

"So that's a yes, then?" Another step and this time she lets her fingers lightly skim her neck.

Angel forces his eyes away from her neck and meets her hooded eyes. He moves without thinking and crushes her lips with his own, pulling her into his body because more than her blood, he wants this. Her warmth spreads through him like wildfire and he can feel it burning, igniting parts of him he'd long since thought dead. And then he feels it, the guard he so carefully carries crumbling as she returns the kiss.  

The demon emerges and he spins away from Buffy, leaving her wild eyed and breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry." His eyes are squeezed shut and it’s a long moment before he opens them again.  Buffy looks at him, her expression unreadable and he repeats himself.  

Which is when all hell breaks loose.

The vampires seem to come from all directions, game faces on full display. Angel counts seven before realizing they're trapped in the middle of a circle, an advantage the other vampires know they have. He'd barely survived in the tunnel and he can feel panic set in.

Buffy turns herself so they're standing back to back. "They can't take you," she whispers tersely and her permission is freeing. He surrenders to the demon and relishes in the power.

The vampires charge them and Angel loses himself in the fight, drawing on untapped energy as fists connect with flesh. A well placed kick knocks one to the ground and he leaps, stake plunging into his chest and leaving a cloud of dust. Another vampire takes advantage of Angel's position and lands a kick to the back of his neck, sending him sprawling. Angel roars and leaps to his feet but can't dodge the fist and feels his neck snap back. He ducks the next punch and knees the vampire in the stomach. But he's faster than expected and Angel's knocked back, almost losing his balance. Before he can fully recover the vampire unleashes a flurry of well placed blows that Angel is barely able to defend. He focuses, parries the next punch and drives his forehead into the vampire's with enough force to drive him back a few steps. But a few steps are all he needs and Angel uses the space to sweep the vampire to the ground.

Behind him Buffy grunts and hits the ground. Angel spins around and the vampire uses his distraction to his advantage, knocking Angel to the ground and slamming his head into the pavement with the heel of his boot. The world spins but he pushes himself up on his knees, the four remaining vampires splitting into eight. Buffy grunts kicks one vampire into another and he watches as their momentum carries them backwards.

The vampire that knocked him to the ground turns his attention to Buffy, who has her back to him. Angel lets instinct take over and propels himself into the vampires’ back, his stake finding purchase before he collapses on the ground in a heap. He rights himself as Buffy drives her stake home, leaving two.

"We have a message from Darla," one of the vampires growls as he stands.

"Yeah, we got the message last time." Buffy bites. "Still not interested."

"Foolish choice, girl. You have no idea what you're up against."

"Old vampires with a power complex? Got it."

The vampire laughs and Buffy punches him in the jaw. The other vampire moves toward Angel, rusty pipe in hand and Angel moves defensively. His energy is all but tapped and he knows he's running on reserves. When the vampire charges him he ducks and directs a punch at his jaw but it's poorly placed and easily avoided. Angel crouches to avoid a kick but can't move in time to miss the pipe, which rips through his abdomen. He clenches his teeth and the vampire smiles through a mouthful of teeth.

"Just wait, Angelus. Darla has big plans for you." Anger and fear blind him and he charges forward, sending the pipe clattering and evening the field. The other vampire growls and gets the upper hand, a barrage of blows driving Angel to the ground. He puts up his hands to shield his head and tries to roll to the side but a boot to the wound on his abdomen makes him gasp and his vision blur. One more, he thinks, and he's going to pass out.

But then he's covered in ash and dust and Buffy stands above him.

"You're hurt," she observes, and scans the dark farm.  "We have to get inside."  

Buffy turns and he follows, grimacing at the pain in his side. She's moving fast and he forces himself to keep pace.

"Here," Buffy finally says and leads him into a small silo on the edge of the property.  She pauses only to remove her outerwear before entering her room and pulling a first aid kit down from the shelf.  He stands outside the door, wondering if she would notice if he turned and left.  If she would be grateful.  The heat of their kiss burns through him, warming him even in its memory and he tries to regret it, knows he should regret it, but can't. Can't leave her, either, he realizes and considers that.  

"Sit down and I'll clean your wound," she says without turning around.  Her tone gives away nothing. 

"I need an invitation." The words taste bitter, a physical barrier between what he wants and what he can't have.

"Oh."  Now she turns, and her eyebrows are lifted slightly.  "I didn't know if that was legend or not."  Hesitation, almost imperceptible, before she says, "I invite you in."  

She points to a chair and he collapses.  "Take off your shirt," she instructs and he obeys, wincing as his wound reopens.  Buffy kneels before him but doesn't look at him.  Angel wants to ask why she's doing this, why he isn't dust, if he could just kiss her one more time.  Then her fingers are on his chest and he gasps.

"I thought vampires were supposed to heal quickly." Buffy cleans out the wound with antibiotic cream, her fingers gentle but efficient. There is no risk of infection but he can't bring himself to tell her because he can't stand a premature loss of contact.

"They do," he grunts, only half concentrating on her words. She arches an eyebrow at him.

"Not seeing any vampire healing here."  Angel glances down at his bare chest, seeing himself through her eyes. Bruises blossom across skin that's stretched tight across bones, and the fact he can count his ribs bothers him for the first time in as long as he can remember. His pants gape at the waistline and he wishes he could hide his wasted body. Vanity was Angelus' trademark and despite the fact he's not been conscious of his appearance since his soul was returned, Angel finds himself wishing he could disappear behind the shapeless shirt.

"Underfed," he mutters darkly.

Buffy nods, but says nothing. She finishes applying the bandage and her fingertips linger on his abdomen, her touch no longer clinical or efficient. The effect is dizzying and when she stands up her absence burns.

"Thank you," he says because it seems like the right thing to say. Thank you for patching me up, thank you for kissing me, thank you for forgiving me. And a whisper born of unfounded hope, thank you for loving me.

Buffy opens the icebox and pulls out a container of blood, dark and viscous and in her hands, unappealing. He swallows harshly, forcing his hunger down.

"I know it's not much," she says and he nods. She hands him the container and he accepts it with a shaking hand and then turns away, affording him privacy. Angel drinks quickly drawing no pleasure from the sustenance. Buffy has her back to him and he stands.

"Thank you." He's losing track of how many times he's thanked Buffy, and he darkens.  Selfishness has always been his trademark and it’s brought with it a trail of destruction even before he was turned.  His father had made disappointment an art and he can still remember his mother’s slow shake of her head.  Nothing has changed, he thinks.  He kissed Buffy because he was selfish, because he wanted comfort.  He knows where this path leads, because it’s the only way he’s ever been.

When he lifts his eyes she's looking at him.  Her eyes are dark and her brow furrowed, like she's staring at a puzzle and can't figure out where the pieces fit. Angel holds himself still, meeting her stare and softening his gaze.  He's not sure what she's looking for but thinks he would do anything if only it meant he could kiss her, one more time. 

Buffy's cheeks flush as if though she's only just become aware that she's staring at him.  "You need to rest," she says and gets him a blanket.  "Are you ok on the couch?"  

Angel nods, mutely, and watches her walk into her sleeping quarters.  The door shuts and he sinks into the couch.  It's a long time before he falls asleep.  

+++  
Buffy is sitting on the edge of her bed, fully dressed, when she hears the knock on the door.  She'd been unable to fall asleep and when she had, her dreams had been vivid - Angel kissing her, Angel biting her, and the underlying theme, Buffy enjoying it.  She'd eventually given up and finally gotten dressed with the intention of patrolling but had been unable to open her bedroom door when it occurred to her that Angel might be awake, too.  The thought of conversation, or more awkward silence, had driven her back to bed.  

The knocking grows more insistent and she opens the door, noticing first that the couch is empty and then that Angel is pressed against the wall furthest from the door, his eyes wild with fear.  He's naked from the waist up and his chest is still a patchwork of bruises and the red gash looks only marginally better than it did the night before.

His eyes dart to hers and he whispers her name, almost reverently, then seems to relax.  

"It's ok," she says automatically and he nods but still looks bewildered.  How many times has he woken to something unpleasant? she wonders before reaching for his discarded shirt and handing it to him.  

The door opens as Angel is pulling his shirt over his head, wincing as his wound reopens.  Wes stops in the doorway, looking between them, and Buffy meets his questioning gaze, shaking her head slightly.  

"Are you ok?" he asks and his voice has a strange quality she chooses to ignore.  

"We were ambushed last night, Angel took a few bad hits. We needed to get inside."

"Ambushed?"  Wes turns to her and his expression is all businesslike.  His family had been Watchers, before, and sometimes the intensity he employs to continue tradition exasperates her.  But now, she’s grateful for his tunnel vision.  

"Yes, out by the old silos. Seven vamps total, same story as the ones in the tunnels. They want Angel."

"And you didn't see fit to find us last night?" Wes sounds angry. "We haven't had vampires in the compound in almost a year! Buffy, we are all at risk!"

She feels herself bristle and takes a deep breath. "We got them all."

"And if there were more?" Wes' eyes bore into hers but she refuses to back down.

"There weren't. Darla thought this was enough. If I'd thought you were in danger I wouldn't have jumped ship, Wes." Buffy can hear the edge in her voice. Angel, standing behind the couch, hasn't said a word.  Wes looks between them for a moment and Buffy feels like he can see all of her secrets.  

"It's not protocol," Wes finally says and she can feel herself tense for another fight.  Then, "you said Angel was injured?"   

“Yes.  Got the wrong end of a rusty pipe.”  

“I see.”  Wes looks Angel up and down. “And I assume you’ve healed?”

“Almost.”  Buffy starts to correct him, then stops because she can understand the need to hide. 

“Good.”  Wes turns back to Buffy and his voice is slightly off.  “In addition to being concerned, I came over because Giles wants you at the Center.”  

“Why?  What’s going on?”  

“Willow and Tara have uncovered more information about the vampires are planning, and Doyle’s had another vision that indicates we may be attacked again soon.”  Buffy notices his bloodshot eyes and the sallow tone of his skin. 

“Have you slept at all?”

“No,” he snaps and his mouth works for a moment like he might say more, then stops.  "I have to get back.  The sooner you can get there, the better."  The door closes behind him with a breath of cold air.  

For a moment they stand, frozen, until Angel clears his throat.  "I'm sorry," he whispers and when she turns to face him his eyes are clouded. 

"Ok," she says automatically and then thinks she doesn't know what he's sorry for.  Panicking?  Getting hurt?  Kissing her?  The thought sends a shiver down her spine as she realizes not for the first time that she liked the kiss, his cold lips pressed against hers and tasting of danger and lust and reverence.  

She needs time to think, time to figure out why her stomach clenches and her heart beats more rapidly and her face flushes when she thinks about kissing Angel, or holding Angel, or touching Angel.  But time is not hers and she turns away from him.  

"We need to go," she says, knowing he will follow.  

+++  
The Center is bustling with activity and no one notices them come down the stairs.  Buffy scans the room until she finds Giles, who’s deep in conversation with Xander and Gunn. 

“I suppose we’ll have to kill it." Giles is saying, rubbing at the bridge between his nose.  “But for the life of me I can’t think of how we’re going to achieve that.”

“Rocket launcher?” Xander says and Giles face indicates that it’s a valid suggestion.  

“Hey,” she interjects, stepping between the two groups.  “Who are we blowing up?” 

“Buffy, hello.”  Giles smiles wanly.  “Wes tells us you’ve had an eventful night.”  She makes eye contact with Wes across the table and he meets her eyes with a hardened expression.  He is confused, and hurt, and probably angry, but he hasn't said anything to Giles and for that she's grateful.  She lifts the corner of her mouth and he softens, slightly.  

“We were ambushed,” she says and repeats what she told Wes. Gunn’s expression darkens.  

“We should have been out there.”  He says, squeezing his hands into fists.  “Do you know how much vampire ass I woulda kicked?”  

“I’m good, Slayer, remember?”  She glances over her shoulder, “and Angel was with me.”  

“Oh good,” Xander snaps.  “Just what you want to back you in a fight against vampires - another vampire.”  

"Enough."  Giles puts a hand up to each of them.  "Xander, if you cannot accept that Angel is a member of this team for the time being then your services are not required.  I do not have the time or energy to mediate this bickering any longer."

Buffy lifts her chin and takes heart that Giles defended Angel, even if 'a member of a team' is different than any capacity she's envisioning Angel in her life. She sighs.  "What were you talking about just now?" 

"Doyle had another vision, this time about an attack we can expect as soon as tomorrow night."  Wes' voice is strained and he rubs the bridge of his nose.  

"Do we even know why they want Angel?"

Buffy glares at Gunn, but he doesn't back down.  "Does it matter?" 

"I'm just saying we're going through an awful lot of trouble to keep a vampire safe." 

"And we're going to continue to."  Willow and Tara descend the stairs.  "We’re getting closer to figuring out why they want Angel so badly.” 

There's a collective quieting of the room, although Buffy can't tell if everyone's heard Willow or it's a general lull in conversation. 

"Can we find a place to sit?  We just recast the wards and I could use a breather."  Giles nods and directs them to an unused table off to the side with six mismatched chairs.  Willow and Tara sit next to each other, flanked on either side by Giles and Wes who are asking them questions about the spell they just cast that exceed Buffy's comprehension.  Xander sits next to Wes and Gunn positions himself against the wall. She and Angel take the remaining chairs and as they sit, her hand accidentally brushes Angel's.  They make eye contact and although brief, it's enough to cause her heart to skip a beat.  His expression remains unreadable but his fingers are stretched out, as if though he's casting a net and hoping to get a bite.  Buffy pulls her chair in and takes his bait, letting her fingers brush his and his eyes close just a moment longer than a blink. It’s a different kind of power than she’s accustomed to, this ability to have such an effect on another person.  

"Tara and I cast a seeking spell, asking for guidance in deciphering Doyle's rather vague visions."  Willow frowns.  "You'd think the universe would be more helpful." 

"We learned that the statue that he saw Darla, Spike and Drusilla with is called Acathla ."  Tara continues, smiling sideways at Willow.

"A cat!  Of course!"  Wes brings a fist to his face.  "If I recall correctly, the last he was heard of was medieval times." 

"Ok, so why now?" Buffy’s stomach flips in nervous knots that manifests as irritation.  

"He's capable of sucking the world into hell.  And it looks like they have him."  Willow's words are met with a heavy silence. 

"That sounds like a very intense spell."  Tara nods and looks at the table, unable to meet Giles' stare. 

"I know.  But it needed to be done."  Giles frowns and Buffy looks closely at Willow and Tara, noticing the sunken eyes and pale features. 

"You said you know why they want him?"  Xander gestures across the table, as though saying Angel's name would be too great a feat.  Buffy feels herself tense but says nothing.

"There was something else, something just beyond where we could see,” Tara says. “But I felt, we both felt, that Angel was involved somehow.” 

"So let's attack them before they can get to us!"  Gunn smacks open palms on the table.  "We'll bring a big sledgehammer and turn this guy to rubble, problem solved." 

"Not so fast."  Tara raises her eyebrows.  "We don't know where they are.  Locator spells are like radar - you send out a signal and they bounce back once they hit something.  But ours hit nothing, which means they likely have the same wards or cloaks we do."

"But they found us. Twice." 

Willow shakes her head at Gunn and looks at Tara. "If this Drusilla vamp had a vision that's all they'd need.  They’d have their anchor, or proof that we exist.  We don’t have that."

"Can we fix it? Make our wards stronger?" 

"That's what we just did but we’re not changing the root of the spell.”  

“Can we?” 

"We're working on it but it takes time! It's not like, doing a math problem! We need ingredients and incantations and hey! No standard language for guarding your compound against a group of psychotic vampires hellbent on destroying the world and OH YEAH did I mention one is psychic?" Xander puts his hands up in surrender as Willow yells.

"Sorry I asked," he mutters.

"No, it was a legitimate question." Wes says. "Just happens to have a frustrating answer." 

"So now we have a better idea of why they want Angel."  Giles leans forward. "And I'm guessing that the Judge is going to be their next weapon."

"The Judge?" Angel speaks for the first time and everyone turns to look at him as he refocuses his stare. 

"Yes. Do you recognize the name?”

"It’s a legend, before my time.  There was a demon, brought forth to rid the earth of the plague of humanity. He would burn the righteous down."

Giles takes a deep breath and Buffy looks sideways at Angel, who sits without moving.  "From what Doyle saw it would seem they have the Judge as a weapon. Do you recall anything else?" Angel shakes his head.  

"So we're playing defense against a guy that we have no idea where he is coming from, don't know when he's coming, and can't kill." Gunn gives a thumbs up. "Sounds like we're all set then."

"We need to focus first on this Judge," Xander says, and he’s shifted into what Buffy used to call commando mode back when they’d been at the other compound and they’d been selected for military training when they were thirteen.   She’d never been good at following orders but he’d fallen right in line and excelled at everything they were assigned to do.  His face has the same concentration she’d see when they’d been given orders and he’d executed them flawlessly.  

“How did they kill him the last time?”  

Giles looks at Gunn.  “They didn’t.  He’s back, which means he was never killed.”  

Wes looks down at his notes and purses his lips together.  “Not killed.  But also not heard from in at least,” he looks at Angel and narrows his eyes.  “200 years?”  

“250,” Buffy corrects and Wes lifts his chin.  

“250 years without a sound from this guy and now he’s back.  Just like that.”  Willow snaps her fingers.  “If I was a big ugly demon, why would I have been hibernating until now?”  

“A spell to summon him?”  Tara says, but Giles shakes his head. 

“No, because then there would be a spell to banish him and more than likely make it impossible for him to walk the earth again.”  

“We need to focus on what we do know,” Xander brings his hands together on the table.  “The last time this guy was running around was before modern warfare - specifically rocket launchers, grenades and flame throwers.  We need to take inventory of what we have and ensure that they work because otherwise we’re sitting ducks.”  He turns to Gunn.  “You get Scott, Larry and a few others and do weapons inventory.  Tara and Willow, you continue to work on a spell that can effectively keep these assholes out.  I’m going to walk the perimeter and make sure we haven’t missed anything.”  He scans the group.  “In the meantime we’ll continue patrols in the tunnels and on the streets.  No one should travel alone, or unarmed, and we are going to enforce a curfew.  And he,” Xander jerks his thumb towards Angel, “should not be alone, period.”  

“I don’t like this, Xander,” Wes sits straight in his chair.  “The purpose of our camp was to escape the military’s control, not to recreate it.”  

“I don’t think we have a choice.”  Wes knows her expression mirrors his look of surprise at Giles’ words, unexpected as he’d always been the detractor from anything military.  “We’re fighting an enemy blind, we need all the advantages we can get.”  

Xander nods, stands, and he and Gunn leave followed by Willow and Tara until the four of them are in the room alone.  

“Angel, Jenny Calendar has finished preparing the spell required to anchor your soul.”  Giles looks directly at him, and Angel maintains eye contact.   

“When?” he asks.  

“Tomorrow. At dusk.  Jenny wishes to use outdoor space, so we are going to be as efficient as possible so please be prompt.”  Angel nods.  

“Do I need to do anything to prepare?” He asks and Giles shakes his head.  

“Simply show up and that should be sufficient.”  He turns to Buffy. “I expect you will continue to rest?  You’re going to need to be at your best for the next few days.  Please take extra food rations if you find it necessary.”  

“Speaking of rations.”  Buffy avoids looking at Angel, who’s dropped his gaze to his hands.  “If Angel is going to continue to patrol with me, we need to up his rations as well.”  

Giles looks at Angel, then nods.  “Very well.  I’ll have it taken care of.”  

Buffy watches as Giles leaves the room and then stands without looking at Wes.  He says nothing, but she can feel his disapproval radiating off him in waves.  He’s been her de facto Watcher since her arrival, her anger at Giles too much of an obstacle in a productive working relationship.  It almost didn’t work; he’d been too uptight and focused and she was too fed up with authority.  But they’d found their groove and he’d trained her well, understanding her power more than she had and teaching her to control it.  It’d evolved into a friendship, tentative at first, then casual and finally, comfortable to the point that he was the closest thing to a brother she’d had.  It shook her, to the core, to have him this disappointed in her.  

“We’ll be back at dusk,” she says shortly. 

"Be careful," Buffy hears as they leave.

+++   
The walk back to her room is silent, and it occurs to Buffy that Angel follows her without question.  She can’t pinpoint exactly how she feels about this because she’s been a loner for as long as she’s been here and having Angel with her for the past solid day is new, but she finally decides, not entirely unpleasant.  

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower.”  The tension from words left unsaid is a heavy curtain but the more it builds the less she knows how to disassemble it.

He looks up at her like he wants to say something but stops himself, and nods.  

“Make yourself at home, please,” she says as she crosses the small space to the bathroom, leaning against the closed door for a moment before starting the shower.  Buffy doesn’t complicate her life, as a rule, but she cannot rectify her feelings for Angel.  Angel, the vampire.  Angel, who has a soul and remorseful eyes.  Angel, who had killed and maimed for over a hundred years.  Angel, who staked a vampire to save her life.  Angel, who had kissed her harder than she'd ever been kissed.  And who she wanted to kiss again. 

The last thought comes unbidden and Buffy feels her insides twist as she realizes it's the first time she's allowed herself to admit this.  That his touch had ignited her nerve endings and left her feeling on edge for hours, that his stare made her knees weak and the thought of his lips, cool and confident and powerful, almost drove her over the edge. 

She’d never officially been with anyone; her first kiss had been with a soldier named Riley when she was fifteen and they’d dated for a month before her mom had died.  It was simple, although looking back now she realizes she could have never loved him because in the years she knew him she never once felt anything close to what she feels for Angel. 

It hits her like a punch to the gut, then, that when all else is stripped away what she's feeling might be the beginning of falling in love.  That she knows enough of his past, has felt his demon, has seen his scars and even that is not enough to push her away.  Buffy the vampire Slayer is falling in love with Angel the vampire and it might have made her laugh if it wasn't so terrifying and exhilarating. 

Even though she’s only separated from Angel by a layer of tin, it’s suddenly too much and she feels the rest of the world fall away.   She turns off the shower and walks into the living room and sees him sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.  He looks up at her and she can feel a tingling in her stomach, suddenly nervous.

“I can’t stay here.”  Angel’s face is drawn.  Buffy feels her stomach drop, wondering how she has read the situation so incorrectly. 

“You can go stay with Doyle, or Giles.  You don’t need my permission.”  She tries to keep her face expressionless but the hurt on Angel’s face tells her she’s failed. 

“No, not here,” he gestures to the room.  “I mean, in this compound.”  

“Oh.”  Buffy processes his words slowly, finding relief that he isn’t trying to get away from her exactly. “So what’s your plan?  Wander until they find you and kill you?  Or you end up back in the mines?”  

His expression is pained.  “Staying here is going to destroy everything you’ve worked for.” 

“Oh, and letting them catch you for who knows what is a good alternative?”

Angel stare at his hands.  “I won’t let it come to that.”  

For a moment she can’t speak. Then:  “You’re talking about killing yourself.”  

He won’t answer and she can feel herself begin to shake.  “How can you say that?  What about redemption and working towards something?”  

"You're assuming it was mine to have at all." His voice is hollow.

"So that's it? Better to give up than to fight?" Buffy is hurt and angry and she can hear it in her voice but doesn't care. "Why did you kiss me?"

Angel jerks his head in surprise and she barrels on.

"Why did you kiss me?"  Adrenaline replaces nerves and she barrels on. "Because if you were just intending to give up, to kill yourself, then I'm not going to waste another minute on you.  Thinking about you."  

Angel stares at his hands and his voice is quiet.  "I kissed you because it's all I've wanted to do since I first saw you." 

"I punched you," Buffy says as the world spins.  

Angel looks up at her and smiles, slightly.  "You did." 

"This isn't a joke," she bites, overwhelmed by the implication of his words. 

Angel sobers instantly.  "I'm sorry," he says, and stares at pattern of scars on his wrist before standing up suddenly, as if he'd reached a conclusion in a conversation she wasn't privy to.  "I didn't mean to fall for you, and I'm sorry if it's making you uncomfortable.  But I'm not sorry for kissing you because it was the best moment of the two hundred and fifty years I've been on this earth."  There's moment of long silence as Buffy stares at him, then closes the space between them and presses her lips against his. It takes him only a moment to recover before he's kissing her back and this time she's prepared.  His mouth opens and she sinks into him, letting her hands roam his chest, his back, his arms.  

When he pulls away it feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room and it takes a moment to collect her breath.  "Angel?" she whispers at his back.  He doesn't answer and when she puts her hand on his shoulder, he doesn't move. 

He mutters something she can't understand and she pushes his shoulder until he's facing her.  Angel's demon face is on full display and it's different from when they were in the tunnels, when he was mostly cloaked in shadow.  In the light of her room she can make out every ridge, the harshness of his brow, the glint of gold in his eyes.  

"I'm sorry," he whispers through a mouth of teeth and reaches her palm to his cheek.  The contact has the desired effect and he jerks, making eye contact with her.  His eyes are beautiful, and she pushes aside the realization that for so many people, they were the last thing they saw.

"Oh," she says and his eyes close as he pushes into her palm.  She pushes her lips against his again, tentatively at first, and then with more force.  When they finally part she's breathing hard and Angel is staring at her with something like wonder. 

"Buffy," he breathes then closes his eyes for a long moment and when he opens them, his golden eyes have been replaced by chocolate brown ones.  

She can feel her heart racing and the only sound is her ragged breathing. 

"What is this?" 

"Buffy," Angel's voice trails off. 

"You're a vampire and I'm the Slayer, and..."  The corners of his mouth lift and it catches her off guard.  "What?" 

"Labels tend to lose their meaning after you've lived as long as I have," he says and Buffy feels for a moment like she's being mocked. 

"Well sorry I'm not as enlightened," she bites and folds her arms across her chest.  

"No, Buffy," Angel's smile fades and for a moment looks like he might reach for her but instead folds his arms across chest, mimicking hers.  But where she knows her posture is defensive, his makes him look vulnerable.  "I just meant that the heart doesn't always follow the rules." 

"Your heart doesn't beat," she says and Angel looks like he's been slapped.  When he speaks, his voice is bitter.    
   
"I'll go," he says and turns toward the door and she feels something inside her clench.

"Stop," she says softly just as his hand reaches for the knob.  "Stay, please."  

Angel stops but doesn't turn around and Buffy focuses on the space between his shoulders as she opens her mouth and lets the words tumble out. 

"When you kiss me I feel more alive than I ever have," she breathes, heart quickening at the memory of his lips against hers.  "It's been me, just me, for so long that I don't know how to let anyone else in."  

Angel doesn't turn around.  "I know," he says softly and she realizes that of everyone, he would.  

"I'm afraid of getting hurt, and I'm afraid of hurting you."  Buffy's voice shakes and she takes a deep breath.  

"I have nothing to offer you."  Angel's words hang for a moment before he continues.  "I don't know how to be anything, not anymore."  

A curtain of sadness descends and Buffy feels her throat tighten. She walks forward and wraps her arms around his torso and presses her face against his back and Angel hesitates only a moment before leaning back into her.  

Buffy isn't sure how it happens but then they're facing each other.  Angel brings his lips to hers, soft and tentative and she melts into him.  They let their bodies pick up where their words have failed.  She sighs as his rough hands stroke her face, her hair, her back.  Her own find their way under his shirt, hands fiery against his cool, broad chest.  Their earlier urgency is replaced with tenderness and the understanding that they both want this, even if they don't fully understand it.  

They move to the couch and Buffy hears a noise escape her mouth when Angel's hands move under her tunic.  She shivers and can feel goosebumps but when Angel starts to pull away she places his hands back on her hips, and smiles at him.  He looks at her, in awe, and kisses her neck. 

Emboldened, Buffy slips her hands under the waistband of his pants, feeling hip bones and muscle.  He sucks in a sharp breath and pulls away and when Buffy looks at him, his head is thrown back and his face is a mask of ecstasy.  Her hands venture further down and Angel's gasp makes her own belly twist in want. 

She's startled when Angel pulls away and when he looks at her she knows he's seeing flushed cheeks, swollen lips and tousled hair.  His own eyes are wild with lust and something else she can't define.

"Angel?"  she asks, breathless.

"We can't, I can't," Angel repeats, his gaze turning inwards. "I can't, not now." 

"Angel?" He looks up and his eyes focus on hers.  

"Buffy," he says and runs his hands through his close shaven hair.  "I'm sorry."  

"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, hating the weakness in her voice. 

Angel's face asserts his denial before the words are out of his mouth. 

"Then what, Angel?"  Just saying his name reignites her want and she forces her breathing to even.  

Angel looks pained.  "My soul...it's not anchored."  

Buffy nods.  "Ok," she says trying not to let her confusion show.  

"If I experience happiness, perfect happiness, my soul will be taken from me.  Angelus will be released."  His voice takes on an edge of panic.  "I can't let that happen.  I can't."  

"Angel," Buffy says and then stalls, letting the weight of his words wash over her.  "And you think that this....oh."  

He looks straight into her eyes, but says nothing. 

"Oh," Buffy says again, this time letting a smile slide on her face.  "Oh."  

Angel looks at her in wonder as she turns so her body is over his, kissing him softly on the lips before letting her head rest on his chest.  For a moment she's unnerved by the silence before placing her hand over the place his heart should beat. 

"Doesn't it bother you?" He asks quietly.

"No. It's different, but it doesn't bother me." A pause.  "Does it bother you that mine does?"

Buffy can hear the wonder in his voice.  "No. It's beautiful."  

They sit in silence for longer than she would have thought comfortable as their bodies relax, releasing tension.  Buffy adjusts herself so she's not hurting him and Angel rubs her arm with his thumb.  She can feel herself beginning to drift off, the mental and physical exhaustion of the day catching up to her.

+++  
Buffy is in the compound behind their field, one unprotected by wards.  It’s foggy and she can’t get her bearings, and when she reaches for a stake she finds she’s unarmed.  Something moves across from her and she prepares for a fight.

A vampire Buffy doesn't recognize stands across from her.  She’s wearing clothing that doesn't fit this time period, a long heavy dress, and her dark hair is covered with a veil.  

Delicate, Buffy thinks.  Dangerous.  

“You’re not going to take my daddy from me,” the vampire purrs steps to the right.  Behind her, Angel is in a heap on the ground unmoving.  

“Angel!”  Her voice carries a note of panic and the vampire smiles in amusement.  

“Now Dru, what have I told you about playing with your food?”  A female, blonde and oozing power, whispers in Buffy’s ear.  Darla.  

“That it makes it taste sweeter?”  Drusilla smiles and runs her fangs over her teeth. 

Buffy runs for Angel but before she reaches him falls through a hole in the ground, crashing through pitch black until she rolls on her feet.  

The walls are made of dirt and illuminated by candlelight.  A vampire, the oldest Buffy has ever seen, sits on an ornate chair next to a large stone statue with a sword sticking out.  

“Slayer.”  His face becomes more grotesque when he smiles.  “Come to watch the show?” 

Two vampires drag Angel out from the shadows. Drusilla stands beside the master, smiling in glee.  “Oh, daddy,” she sings, “your blood will free us all.”  

Buffy screams as Darla drags a knife across Angel’s chest and he cries out.  Drusilla claps and giggles as Darla takes his blood and smears it on her hands before pulling the sword out.  The statue rumbles and a vortex opens, pulling Angel from the ground.  

“Buffy!” he screams before he vanishes.  Darla grins at her through a mouthful of teeth.  

“Welcome to Hell, Buffy.”  

++  
Buffy screams in her sleep and Angel pulls her tight to his chest as she emerges from the throes of her nightmare, panting and wide eyed.  

Buffy had drifted off but Angel had been unable to, afraid that when he woke she would be gone.  Instead he'd stared at her hair, felt her skin, absorbed her warmth and breathed in her scent - clean, even in a post-apocalyptic world.  She'd been asleep for an hour when her breathing had become ragged and her heart had sped up and when she woke, she wore the expression of someone who had just seen death. 

"We have to see Giles," she says, jumping up from the couch and twisting her loose hair into a pony tail.

“Ok.” He moves beside her, ignoring his body’s protest at the sudden movement. Angel watches as she changes into a fresh shirt and splashes water on her face, unaware or uncaring that she doesn’t bother closing any doors. 

“Ok,” she finally says, standing just out of arm’s reach. Angel wishes he could hold her until the pain in her eyes vanishes but before he can muster the will to reach for her she sighs and turns toward the door. He follows her into the cold. 

+++  
“It’s been said that Slayer dreams can portend the future.”  Giles offers them each a cup of tea.  “But you’ve never had one before now.”  

They’re in Giles’ room, where they’d interrupted what he thinks was an intimate conversation with Jenny.  Her demeanor had changed when they’d entered the room and Angel fights the urge to return to the hallway.  He wonders if she knows she looks like her ancestor, if she knew how much she’d suffered, or that – he suppresses a shudder - he’d enjoyed it. 

“This isn’t like any dream I’ve ever had, Giles.”  She’d filled them in on her dream and Angel felt himself grow colder, if it was possible.  Acathla was considered lost to humans, buried centuries ago and not to be recovered.  

“What does your instinct tell you?”  Jenny is as far away as she can physically be from Angel in the small space.

“That Angel’s blood is going to open the portal to hell.”  Her tone is matter of fact but Angel closes his eyes against her words.  “They’re not going to give up until they get him.”  

“I’d imagine not.”  Giles shakes his head.  “We need to know where they are.  We cannot stop this unless we can destroy Acathla .”  

“Or we could destroy Angel.”  Jenny smiles and Angel looks away.  “Seems to me that’d solve the problem.”  

Next to him, Buffy bristles.  “Not an option.”  

“And why is that, Slayer?”  Jenny takes a step closer, a power play, but Buffy moves in front of Angel. 

“Because it’s not.”  Her posture is rigid and he can hear her heartbeat accelerate but she doesn’t back down.  

Jenny raises her chin.  “A Slayer who protects a vampire over humans. That’s sick.” 

Giles gives Buffy a long look before turning to Jenny.  “Killing Angel would not serve any purpose, other than to spark the ire of some very old vampires.  It would simply activate a different bloodline and restart the cycle.  Not to mention, I imagine we’d be destroyed simply because they sought revenge.”  

“So you’re choosing to ignore that your Slayer betrays her own kind?”  

“No one asked you,” Buffy spits.  

“Maybe you should,” Jenny’s eyes burn into Angel as she moves closer.  “Maybe you should ask me to tell you how he destroyed my people.  How he kept her alive for days, raping her and drinking her until she finally died.  How he took out half my village, drunk off her blood.”  

Angel closes his eyes against the memories, his stomach twisting as he sees empty eyes and bodies strewn across one another.  He hears laughter, his own and Darla’s, as they ripped the throats out of half the village.  

“He’s not Angelus anymore.” Giles tone is mild when he speaks and Jenny spins to him.    “What?” 

“You speak as though he’s still Angelus, the vampire without a soul, when in fact he’s been in possession of his human soul for over one hundred years.”  Giles is calm, but his tone is firm.  “Angel has given us no reason to distrust him.” 

“You’re as blind as he is,” Jenny spits the words. “You are a disgrace to your kind.” 

Hurt flashes across Giles’ face but vanishes just as quickly. “That is your opinion.”

“Perhaps you should reconsider your audience.” 

“Or perhaps you should reconsider your anger, misplaced though it is.” 

Jenny glares at him for a long moment, then makes a noise of disgust in her throat. “I have things to do,” she says and slams out of the room without looking back. 

“Giles,” Buffy says when the door closes but he holds up his hand.  

“What exactly is going on here?” he finally asks, gesturing to the empty space between them and Angel freezes, Giles’ earlier warning ringing in his ears. 

Buffy holds her shoulders straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Giles.” 

He regards them for a moment but doesn’t say anything else. “Just be careful.” 

+++  
They walk the perimeter of the fence in silence. The compound is larger than Angel had realized, and well secured; the magick of the protection spell making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His nerves are on edge and his mind races as he thinks about his sire, about Spike and Drusilla and even the Master. Part of him is grateful it’s his blood because otherwise the world would have already been taken. But another part of him, the part that’s growing more attached to the idea of a world and a life with Buffy, shudders at the thought of death. 

"Angel? What was the world like? Before?" Buffy stops and stares at the open, dead space outside of the compound. 

It’s not the question he had been expecting, but it doesn’t make it any easier to answer. “It was bright,” he finally settles on, thinking of the sun on his back in his father’s fields, of the first time it burned his hand and Darla had laughed cruelly, of the temptation it’d given him to end his life. 

“And the people? What were they like?” Her tone is wistful and he spares a glance in her direction, where she’s still staring out into the abyss. 

“They were not without their flaws.” 

“They didn’t live in fear all the time, though. That’s got to be something.” He follows her look and sees a lone vampire stumbling a path through unbroken snow. 

"They did. But for different reasons."

"No nuclear winter, definite hours of the day when no demons could come out, no military control.  What was there to be afraid of?"

Angel cannot keep the sadness out of his voice. "Humans are capable of evil, too."

Buffy shakes her head and tips her chin, looking upward at the sky. “That’s depressing,” she says and exhales, releasing a puff of air into the crisp air. “Isn’t that what we’re fighting for? To return to a better time?” 

There isn’t anything he can say, of course. Buffy isn’t the type to search for platitudes and empty promises, and he’s not sure he could offer them even if she was. He grips the fence with his hands and ignores the cold that seeps through his thin clothing, bare feet. As a rule the cold won’t kill him, but it can make him uncomfortable. 

“You can’t go back to the way things were,” he finally says. “Life doesn’t slow down, and in order to survive, you adapt.” 

Buffy looks at him. “Is that what you do? Adapt?” 

Angel looks out at the vampire who has fallen and seems unable to get up. It claws toward them, growling and salivating and Angel cringes inwardly. “Yes.” 

“It’s not that simple, though, is it?” 

“Nothing worth fighting for ever is.” He turns to her at the same time she brushes a lock of hair from her ear and she catches his eye. Even in the darkness he can see the blush on her neck and he smiles, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Are you cold?” 

“I’m fine,” he answers automatically and she sighs. 

“I’m not going to think less of you if you’re cold, or hungry, or in pain.” Buffy pauses a moment and he looks away, caught off guard. “Are you cold?” she asks again. 

“Yes.” 

A hint of a smile. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Angel shakes his head. “It’s not your job to take care of me.” 

“If we were attacked right now, would you be able to fight back? Or are you so frozen you can barely move, let alone run or throw a punch?” When he doesn’t answer she smirks. “Pretend I’m just looking out for myself if it makes it easier.” 

Buffy reaches a gloved hand for his and he can feel her warmth even through the protective layers. He squeezes her hand gently, his fingers aching. 

“Let me take care of this and we’ll head back,” Buffy says and moves quickly out into the field, leaving behind only a trail of ash. When she returns she takes his hand in her own and they begin to walk back to her room. 

"Where are you from? Originally."

"Ireland."   

Buffy wrinkles her nose.  "That's in Europe, right?"

Angel nods.

"How did you end up here?" Angel shakes his head, willing the barrage of memories to stop.

"That's a long story," he finally says.

"I’ve got time."  Her tone is light, but when he says nothing she sobers. "Angel?"

"There are a lot of memories there I would rather not revisit," he finally says, his voice low.

"And you? How did you end up here?"  He has seen enough courtships to know his line and he imagines a simpler time. 

"I was born in the military compound. My dad was a soldier and when he died the government took it upon themselves to care for me and my mom." A look of sadness flits across Buffy’s face before it hardens.  "I was called at 16 and the military was thrilled to have a Slayer at their disposal."

Angel thinks of the soldiers he’s come in contact with, power hungry and unafraid to use it. "What happened?"

"I started asking too many questions. I'd bought into their propaganda about the mines and the farms before I actually saw them."  Buffy turns toward Angel and shakes her head. "I only saw the mines once."

"Once is enough.”

"I didn't buy into their fear induced methods of control and they didn't like that, so one night when I was out at training a vampire attacked my mom." Buffy swallows, and he hears her heart quicken. "Giles found me after that, and I left."

“The military let you go?”  

Buffy looks lost in a memory for a moment. “Eventually.” 

When they arrive at Buffy’s door Angel follows her in, waiting as she removes her outer layers and peels off her thermal gear. 

“You can’t tell me this is easier,” she says with a raised eyebrow. 

“You would look beautiful in sunlight.” His voice is low and Buffy looks away, blushing. 

“I’m going to make tea,” she says and walks toward her small kitchen.

++++  
When she returns with two teacups, Angel is on the couch with a blanket over his lap. She makes a note to get him boots, and warmer clothing, as she hands him a cup of hot liquid.

“Thank you,” he says and takes a long drink. 

“Can I ask you something?” Angel nods and she thinks he’d give her his arm if she asked for it. “Do you think we would have met if the world was different? If the Destruction hadn’t happened?” 

Angel shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “Why?”

Buffy tips her head back into the couch cushions and feels her neck muscles stretch. “Do you believe in fate?” 

“I believe we all have a purpose,” he says. “But I think our actions determine if we fulfill it.” 

Buffy considers this, thinks of her mother and the military compound and Giles and Wes. “Ok, that makes sense.” 

“Why?” He doesn’t sound short, like Riley used to when she’d start asking questions about matters beyond their control. 

“I’d like to think that in a different place or time I’d still know you.” She looks at her him, tilting her head slightly. 

“Me too,” Angel say and reaches for her hand. His fingers, large and strong, wrap around and gently stroke hers. Her hand looks tiny, delicate even, and she feels goose bumps on her arms. 

“Sorry,” he says and starts to pull away but Buffy pull him toward her. 

“I like it,” she whispers and then kisses him, letting everything else fall away. Wes’ disapproval, Giles’ admonition, her own uncertainty about what kind of path she is embarking down with Angel – none of it matters, she thinks as he buries his face in her hair and breathes her in, his entire body quaking. 

Buffy lets herself feel, and be felt, in a way she never has. Her guard crumbles as Angel explores her, moving slowly and reverently. She can feel herself on the edge, nerve endings on fire and the sensation that she’s about to explode building. When Angel finally undresses her and carries her to the bed, he stares at her so long and with so much devotion that if she was not so completely aroused she would be self-conscious. When he finally brings her over the edge it’s unlike anything she has ever felt, ever experienced, and Buffy would not be surprised if someone told her the world had spun on its axis or the stars had shifted. Angel holds her as she drifts off to sleep, his own body tense with unfulfilled desire. 

“I love you,” she hears him murmur just before she falls into a dreamless sleep.

+++  
It takes Buffy a few minutes to fully wake up, her body and mind are so relaxed from the previous evening, and when she does it’s to the realization that she is cold. Angel is on the opposite side of the bed, curled in on himself and she thinks that even in sleep he cannot find peace. 

She considers waking him then decides against it, knowing that they will need all the strength and rest possible if they are going to succeed in upcoming battles. She pulls on her clothing and finds a piece of paper, scribbling a note and putting it on her pillow. Her lips brush his temple and she thinks, I love you too, even if she cannot quite bring herself to say the words aloud.

It’s later than she thought and people are moving about the compound as she walks across the farm. Buffy gives an obligatory greeting to Scott and Larry, who are patrolling the fence, and then quickens her pace. She has a goal, and small talk is not it.

It takes Willow only a moment to open the door and when she does, her face is flushed and Buffy can hear strains of music from a guitar behind her. 

“Buffy!” Willow sounds surprised but not unhappy. “What brings you here?” 

She follows Willow into the living room, where Tara strums a guitar and smiles. “Hi, Buffy,” she says with a smile. “How are you?” 

“That’s beautiful.” Music is not altogether uncommon at the compound, when they’re not trying to stop the world from getting sucked into hell. But it’s been a while and Buffy sits in a chair and listens as Tara continues to play. “What is it?” she asks and Tara smiles again.

“Imagine,” she says. “By the bugs, I think they were called. My mom used to hum it when I was little.” 

They sit for a few minutes while Willow makes tea. These are the moments she was trying to explain to Angel last night, the moments when people just existed without worrying if they’d be alive tomorrow or if the world would still be here if they were. She lets her eyes close and tries to imagine what she would be doing if men with large egos had not decided to launch nuclear weapons, or if they’d done less damage. Would she still be the Slayer? Would she be going steady with a football player? Learning to dance? Would she be a good student? 

“You ok?” Willow asks as she hands her a cup of tea, breaking her reverie. She nods and stares into her cup, letting her reflection stare back. It could be her imagination but part of her still thinks she looks flushed from last night, or at least her eyes seem brighter. 

“Can I ask you something?” Willow nods and Tara stops playing, looking between them with interest. “How did you know that, you know, this was right?” Buffy asks, gesturing between them. 

“That I was a lesbian?” Willow asked, brow furrowed and looking confused. “I mean I guess after Oz left I realized that my heart pitter pattered around Tara and-“

“No, no, not that.” Buffy cuts her off. “I mean, how did you two know you were supposed to be together?” 

Tara looks up at Willow and a slow smile spreads across her face. “You just know,” she says and Buffy thinks that’s what her face would look like when she smiled at Angel if she’d only let it. 

“But how do you know it’s worth it? Worth taking the risk?” 

“What have you got to lose?” 

Buffy considers. “How do you deal with other people? What they think?” 

“There has to come a point where it doesn’t matter,” Willow says, glancing at Tara. “If you let negativity into your space, it will destroy you.” 

“Who are you thinking about?” Tara catches her eye and Buffy thinks that in all the times she’s spent time with Willow she’s not really gotten to know Tara. She’s disarmed by the simplicity of the question. 

“Angel,” Buffy says and then clears her throat. “It’s Angel.” 

Willow and Tara exchange a glance and Buffy feels herself bristle. “Never mind,” she starts to say but Willow cuts her off with a smile. 

“No, no Buffy. It’s just, Tara and me? We’ve sort of sensed something between you two, that’s all.” 

“We didn’t know if you felt it, too,” Tara adds. 

Buffy folds her arms across her chest. “And what did you sense?” It’s an obvious question, but Willow humors her. 

“When two people are in…are compatible,” she says, catching herself before she says what Buffy imagines to be love, “their auras mesh. Like, they come together and create peace in the face of turmoil.” 

“Oh,” Buffy says, considering. 

“Buffy?” Willow prompts gently. “Are you ok?” 

“I don’t know,” she says and drops her forehead to her hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Next to her the couch shifts and Willow’s hand finds her back. Her gentle touch is Buffy’s undoing and she can feel the something building in her chest. Tara quietly leaves and it’s just her and Willow. 

“I think I am falling in love, or am in love,” she says pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes. “With a vampire.” Willow keeps rubbing and lets Buffy take her time. “And I’m a Slayer and his blood is supposed to open the portal to Hell and what the hell am I doing, Will?” Tara returns with a damp towel and Buffy uses it to wipe her face. 

“If he wasn’t a vampire, would it be easier?” 

Buffy nods even before she fully processes the question. “Of course,” she says. 

“Why?” Willow presses. 

“Because he’s over 200 years old. And because he spent more than half of those years as a ruthless killer. And because I don’t know how to explain myself.” 

“Buffy,” Willow says gently. “I think you’re more worried about everyone else than you are about yourself. If you love Angel, or think you could love with Angel, then why are you letting other people stand in the way?” 

Buffy presses the cloth against her face and forces herself to take a deep, cleansing breath. Is it that simple, she thinks, to just put aside my fear and take a risk? And what is she afraid of? That Wes, or Giles, will be disappointed? That Xander will be disgusted? That people will talk about her? 

“What will you regret more?” Tara says from her chair, where’s she’s picked up the guitar and began plucking at the strings. “That you took a risk on love, or that you didn’t?” 

+++   
By the time she’s back at her room her face feels tight and raw. She slowly takes off her outer layers and hangs them on their hooks before taking a deep breath and reaching for the doorknob. When she opens the door Angel freezes in what she imagines is midstride, and can almost envision him pacing around the small space. 

“Buffy,” he says and she feels her heart skip a beat. “You’re back.” 

“I left a note,” she says and fights something like panic when she considers that he hadn’t gotten it and maybe thought she was gone.

“I know. I was worried.” Buffy smiles in spite of herself. 

“I just went for a walk.” 

“I know.” 

Buffy closes the space between them and touches his lips to hers and when they pull away, he smiles. She rests her head on her chest and closes her eyes. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you,” she finally says and for a long moment there’s silence. “I don’t know how to be with someone without hurting them.”

When Angel speaks, it’s with a sadness that she thinks might crush her. “I’m already broken,” he says and she presses her head tighter against his chest. They stand like that for a long moment before Angel breaks the silence. “I have nothing to give you, Buffy.” 

At this she pulls back so she can look at his face. “What?” 

“I’m weak, and I shouldn’t have started this,” he says. “I don’t have anything to offer you.” 

“I don’t need much.” She’s taken a full step back and they’re a few feet apart but still in each other’s space, where the next logical move is to fight or embrace. 

“I am not a man.” He looks through and his eyes are haunted. “You deserve someone without blood on his hands. Someone without a tarnished soul.” 

Buffy swallows hard. “I’m falling in love with you. Or maybe I already am.” The words have their desired effect and Angel looks at her. “And all I need, and it’s probably more than I deserve, is for you to love me in return.” 

“Buffy,” he finally whispers and she smiles. 

“I tried not to, Angel. I did. Maybe I still am.” Buffy forces herself to stand straight, to hold his stare. “But in this world, this fucked up, depressing world, the only thing that seems to make sense is you.” She reaches for his hand with hers, and rubs his palm. 

“I thought I dreamed you,” he says. “And when I woke up, and you were gone….” 

“I needed to sort some things out.” Buffy takes a deep breath. “I want this, I want to be with you. But you need to do something for me, first.” Angel nods, looking at her intently. “I need you to promise me that you will fight. That you won’t give up.” 

Angel starts to speak and Buffy stops him, pulling her hands from his and shaking her head. “This isn’t negotiable. I can’t value your life if you don’t.” 

“My life is putting you at risk,” he finally says and Buffy arches an eyebrow. 

“I’m the Slayer,” she says. “My life is always at risk. And I can’t worry about saving the world if I also have to worry that you’re taking needless risks to protect me.” 

Angel finally, slowly nods. 

“How long until your soul is anchored?” Buffy teases, feeling lighter than she has in years. And when Angel looks at her, his face illuminated by a smile unlike she has ever seen, everything else ceases to matter. 

+++  
To the members of the compound, the world remains in a perpetual dusk.  But Angel can feel the last rays of the sun through the haze and even if they don’t burn they are uncomfortable against his skin.  Jenny stands with Willow and Tara and as they approach Angel fights the urge to run in the other direction.  The last ritual restored his soul and while he would not wish it away magicks and spells and rituals as a whole make him skittish.  

“You ok?”  Buffy asks from her place beside him.  He nods.

“I didn’t know I could lose my soul,” he says quietly.  “Thinking about it, thinking about unleashing Angelus….”

“After tonight, it won’t be an issue.”   Angel stops and Buffy turns to look at him, confused.  “Angel?”

“You don’t understand, Buffy.” He can feel the panic setting in.  “In the time my soul has been mine it has never occurred to me I could lose it.  But knowing that I could have, that I can, it’s….” He swallows but she doesn’t push.  “My memories of everything good, everything human, everything that I consider to be worth fighting for would become the fuel for my destruction.”  He lets his words sink in and realization dawns in her eyes.  

“Angel,” she whispers.  

“My nightmares have always been of things I have done.  But this?  Of things I could do?”  He shudders and Buffy’s death unfolds in his mind a thousand times over.  “I need you to promise me something.”  

Buffy hesitates for a moment.  “Angel, don’t.”   

“I need you to promise me that if my soul is ever taken from me that you will kill me.”  When she starts to speak he cuts her off.  “Promise me!”  

“It won’t come to that,” she says and he knows it’s meant to be reassuring.  “We could resoul you-” 

“No!” Out of the corner of his eye he can see the crowd that’s gathered by the spell site looking at them but he can’t acknowledge it, not until Buffy understands what he is asking.  “You cannot begin to understand what I am capable of.  In the time it would take you to resoul me…” he trails off.  “If you want me to fight with you, to stay with you, I need to know that you will do this for me.” 

Buffy stares at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his.  “I promise, Angel.  I promise.”  

Behind them Wes clears his throat and he can hear Buffy’s pulse quicken. 

“A word?” he asks, then looks at Angel. “Perhaps alone?”

In a move the surprises them both Buffy reaches for Angel’s hand, which she grips tightly enough to bruise. “I’m fine here.” 

Wes’ nostrils flare, then relax. British breeding hasn’t faded, Angel thinks. “I’m worried about you, and your recent choices.” 

“They’re not your concern,” she retorts but there’s a layer of hurt under the anger. 

“No, they’re not. But it doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned for your well being.” 

“It’s not my well being you’re concerned with, it’s your reputation.” Her words are harsh in their clinical assessment and he stiffens. 

“Is that what you think?” Wes’ voice hardens. “That I’m that narrow minded and bigoted?” Buffy says nothing and her silence is telling. “Fine, then. If you decide to stop acting like a child I’d be delighted to carry this conversation forward.” 

They stare in silence as Wes walks across the compound and Buffy only relaxes when he’s out of sight. 

“He cares about you,” Angel says and she sighs. 

“I know.” 

They walk in silence to where Willow stands, looking nothing like the sweet woman he’d met the first day. Power radiates from her core and the demon in him basks in its potential. Angel’s anxiety has not completely dissipated and when they arrive at the circle his skin crawls with the energy.  Willow greets them and instructs him to stand in the middle of their circle, which is lined in sand.  He reluctantly crosses the line.  

“Angel, are you aware that this ritual will bind your human soul to your demon, now and forever more?”  Willow’s words are laced with power.  

“I am,” he whispers.  

“And you enter into this circle of your own free will?”  

“I do.”

“We begin.”  Willow joins hands with Jenny and Tara and they chant in Latin.  Angel tries to force himself to focus on their words but they get lost in the wind, which begins to whip around them.  Their voices are a dull roar and Angel turns to ask them if the wind prevents the spell from working when a white hot pain shoots through his chest, driving him to his knees.  He hears a keening wail and only after a moment realizes it’s coming from him, but he’s powerless to stop it.  His body feels like it’s on fire and he claws and his shirt and his skin until it vanishes, leaving him on a heap on the ground.  The shooting pain is gone, replaced with a dull ache.  

Warm hands grab his arms and help him upright.  “Angel, are you ok?”  

He forces himself to focus on Buffy.  “Yes.”  

“What was that?”  Her voice sounds angry and it takes a moment to realize she’s not speaking to him.  

“The force of his soul fusing with his being.”  Willow blows out the candle that had been lit between them and picks up a glass orb.  

“We didn’t know it would be that painful,” Tara apologizes and Angel nods.  

“So that’s it?  It’s done?”  Buffy sounds anxious and Angel is grateful for it, that she can ask the questions he can’t.  

“Yes.”  Jenny eyes her for a moment.  “His soul is his by rights.”  

“I’d imagine Angel could use a rest,” Giles suggests as Buffy pulls him to his feet.  “Buffy, perhaps I can escort Angel to your rooms while you patrol?” 

She nods slowly and squeezes his hand.  “I’ll see you in a few hours.  Rest.”  

He forces himself upright as Giles leads the way back to Buffy’s home.  The ritual had left no physical damage but he can feel that he is drained and weak.  

“My initial instinct is to instruct you to stay away from Buffy.”  Angel forces himself to listen to Giles’ words.  “But logically she is more at peace than she’s been in the last few years.”  

They arrive at the entrance to her silo and Angel braces himself against the door.  “I won’t hurt her.”  

Giles eyes him for a moment and nods.  “Get some rest, Angel.” 

++++  
A string quartet is assembled in the drawing room, its members wearing tuxedos and Angel looks down at himself to find that he is dressed similarly.  It’s familiar and then he remembers: London, 1755.  

“Angel,” Buffy’s voice sings to him and he leaves the room, which is empty but his mind tells him should be full of the din of an evening gathering.  He moves cautiously until he enters the dining room where Buffy stands with her back to him. 

“Hello, lover,” she says as she licks her fingers seductively and the smell of fresh blood engulfs him.  Angel can feel his arousal overriding his disgust and it sickens him. 

“Buffy?” he whispers as he moves closer and then he sees it - Giles’ body, lifeless on the ground, glassy eyes staring at nothing.  “What have you done?”  

She laughs and he looks up to find her wearing the face of the demon.  “What have I done?  Oh, no,”  Buffy taunts as she steps over Giles body until her nose is inches from his.  “ This is all you.”  

He wakes in a panic, Buffy’s cold eyes staring back at him.

“Are you ok?”  Angel jumps up at Buffy’s voice, putting the couch between them.

“You’re real,” he mumbles, forcing himself to focus on the sound of her heartbeat.    
 “Angel?”  She takes a tentative step closer, arms outstretched to show she’s not a threat.  

“It wasn’t real, wasn’t real.”  If he says it enough times he thinks he may be able to convince himself, to erase her voice and eyes bloodstained lips from his memory.  

Buffy gently touches his arm and he makes eye contact.  “It’s ok, I’m right here.”

He nods, overwhelmed by her scent.  “Sorry, I….”  

“It’s ok.  Here, sit.”  She pulls him down until their legs are touching and then she gently begins to massage his shoulders.  Her strong fingers knead into his back and the pressure loosens muscles that have been wound tightly for years.  “Do you dream a lot?”  

Angel considers lying, but realizes it will serve no purpose.  She’ll find out one way or another.  “Yes.”  

“I used too, after mom died.  I’d dream she was back as a vampire and she would tell me it was my fault.”  Her hands falter almost imperceptibly.  “What was yours about?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters and wonders where he would begin.  With the reenactment of a massacre he’d carried out with Darla?  The part where she had killed Giles?  Where he’d made her into a vampire?  And enjoyed it?

She says nothing and instead continues to massage his shoulders, her strong hands releasing some of his tension. He sighs softly and leans back into her touch. “How was patrol?” 

“Quiet, uneventful.” He nods and she leans forward until her lips caress his ear. “No more small talk, Angel,” she whispers.

He turns to face her and lets his lips find hers, uncertainty replaced by passion and the knowledge that time is not on their side. Buffy shivers when his fingers find her bare skin and Angel feels himself harden when her eyes flutter closed and her nipples tighten. 

In his years on earth Angel has shared his bed too many times to count, first as a mortal with no morals or standards and then, as Angelus. Darla had honed his abilities with pain and brutality and he had thrived in bringing women to the brink of ecstasy before draining them, finding that arousal made the blood sweeter.

As Buffy moans beneath his touch Angel knows that he has never felt anything like this, never loved a woman in the way he loves Buffy. He moves slowly, letting himself feel the smoothness of her skin, the tautness of her muscles, the warmth of her body. She moans his name when his lips find the waistband of her panties but he doesn’t quicken his pace, letting her squirm below him. Her hips lift as he slide her pants off, then her panties, until she is laid bare before him. He’d been here before but now, knowing that the journey is his to share with her, almost pushes him over the edge. 

“Angel?” Buffy whispers and pushes herself up on her elbows. 

“I love you,” he says hoarsely, emotion spilling from his lips. “I love you so much it hurts but I can’t stop.” Buffy leans into him and kisses him and for a moment he thinks it’s to avoid his truth. But when her words reach his ears, ripe with longing and desire, he can’t wait any longer.

His clothing joins hers on the floor and they fall into her bed. Her hands, confident and strong, tease and stroke until he’s at the brink of release. He whispers her name, a prayer, and she rewards him with a kiss. It feels like an eternity and somehow still not enough time and when Angel slides into her he knows with certainty that this is the exact moment his soul would have been taken had it not been anchored. 

It’s poetry, he thinks, the way her body fit against his. They move together and he cries out with her when she finds release before he follows. For a moment the only sound is her breathing, until she looks up at him and smiles, a slow smile that is at once shy and certain. When she speaks her words are laced with urgency. 

“I love you,” Buffy says and pauses as if to consider how they taste on her tongue. “I love you.” 

Everything else falls away until they are just two people and as she fits herself into the groove of his arm and lets her head rest on his chin, and he thinks all the pain and suffering and the fear of what is to come is just if this is his reward. 

++++  
Angel comes to with a start and it takes him a moment to realize it’s coming from a pounding on the door.  

“Buffy!” Wes’ voice is urgent and Buffy looks longingly at him as she hands him his clothes and dons her own. She’d spent the night against him and he’d almost been too afraid to sleep, that when he woke she would be gone and it would have all been something he’d dreamed up. When he’d finally given in to sleep it’d been with her words echoing in his ears. She loved him, despite all else. She loves him, he thinks as she kisses intensely before taking a fortifying breath turning towards the door. 

“What’s going on?” Wes is wild eyed and breathless and still in his outer gear. Angel sense chaos outside and Buffy moves quickly into her own protective clothing. 

“We’re under attack,” he pants before turning to Angel with malice in his eyes.  “Looks like it’s time for a family reunion.”  

Angel feels the world spin around him as he notices the violence outside the door: fire, screams, chaos. Buffy’s bed, warm and safe and comfortable, feels miles away as they tear out into the open air. 

The farmhouse is on fire, flames engulfing the old house with a speed Angel knows doesn’t occur by accident. Buffy notices it before all else and runs, full speed, toward it with Wes on her heels.

“WILLOW!” she screams and disappears into the smoke.

“BUFFY!” Angel takes off after her but is knocked to the ground by fist connecting with his temple.  

“Hello, my boy.”  Darla stands above him, looking lethal and radiant in a form fitting black bodysuit.  “It’s been a while.”  

He’s dragged to his feet by two vampires who he cannot shake off.  “BUFFY!” he yells again, his voice devoured by the chaos.  

“Oh, it’s too late for that.  She’s long gone, along with the rest of your little human friends.”  Darla steps closer and runs a finger along his chin, forcing him to look at her.  “Consider it an early birthday present.”  

She flinches when the spit hits her eye and then backhands him viciously, knocking him to the ground.  From his position all he can see is fire and smoke and he struggles to stand.  “You can’t do this.” 

Darla grins.  “Oh, but I can dear boy. I can do this and worse.”  

The smoke clears.  “The Judge,” Angel whispers hoarsely.  

“Oh good, introductions are done, then.”  Spike walks up to where he lays on the ground and grinds a boot into Angel’s face, forcing him to watch as the Judge kills one of the Watchers.  “Isn’t it yummy?” 

“That one reeks of humanity.”  The Judge moves towards them, reaching for Angel who screams when they make contact, his chest smoking.  

“Not this one,” Darla says and removes his hand without a flinch.  “We need him for later.”  

"Stop it," Angel pleads and Spike kicks him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Oh, this is just the preview," Spike winks. "The main event? That comes later."

Angel pushes himself to his knees but a boot on his back sends him sprawling.

"Oh Spike, it's so delicious." Angel hears Drusilla before he sees her, and squeezes his eyes shut.  She reeks of blood, fresh and warm, and he forces himself upright.

"Daddy!" Drusilla squeals in delight and reaches for him, but hisses when her hand touches his face.  "You're not him! Filthy soul!" Her nails claw his face and blood oozes from the cuts. 

"What are you doing, Angelus?" Darla's amused tone is perverse against the chaos.  "You think they can save them?"  She laughs and he chokes on a sob, falling to his knees as the farmhouse collapses.  

Darla's voice is ice in his ear.  "Everything you touch falls to pieces."

Then something hits his head and blackness engulfs him.

+++  
Buffy runs into the flames, heat licking her face.  “WILLOW!” She screams, voice raw.  

“Buffy!”  Xander runs down the stairs from the house and grabs her by the arm, dragging her away.  “Everyone’s out.  We need to get out of her before this blows.”  

She sprints after him to the garage, taking in the wreckage as she runs.  “What the hell happened?”

“Vampires, lots of ‘em.”  Xander looks grim.  “Attacked from all sides, caught us off guard.”  

Buffy slings a sword over her back and grabs a crossbow from Gunn.  “Is anyone hurt?”  

Xander shakes his head.  “Don’t know yet.”  

She nods and runs back in the direction of the farmhouse, where a battle rages between their soldiers and vampires.  They’re all well fed and well trained and she feels her stomach clench.  

She fires three arrows and is met with three clouds of dust before reaching for her sword.  Adrenaline races through her and she moves efficiently.  

“Buffy!”  Xander yells her name and she spins her head to just beyond the farmhouse, where a large blue demon lumbers toward them.  It reaches for a soldier, Larry, and he’s incinerated in with a scream.  

Behind them the farmhouse collapses.  

“JUDGE!” Buffy yells.  “I need to distract his fire.”  Xander nods and takes off, Gunn on his heels.  

“Hey!”  Buffy veers right, drawing his attention.  “Over here!”  The Judge raises his hand and looks frustrated when nothing happens.  

Buffy runs harder, drawing him from the soldiers.  An arrow embeds itself in the Judge’s back and he turns to face one of their soldiers.  Pete, she thinks.  

“No weapons can destroy me,” he grins and takes two steps forward, grabbing him by the shirt and laughing as he screams.  The Judge then stretches his arms and unleashes a fire that creates a web between six soldiers, all who scream until they collapse.  

Then the Judge turns towards Buffy.  Shit, she thinks.  This is it.  

Just as he raises his arms Xander fires the rocket and he explodes in a ball of fire.  Buffy shields herself from the blast with her arms, watching as body parts scatter across the ground.  

A hundred yards away, Xander nods grimly and then turns his attention back to the vampires that remain.  Buffy hoists her sword above her head and runs in the foray, swinging.  

+++  
They win, in the sense that they are still standing and the vampires are not.  But Buffy learned a long time ago that there’s always a loser and as she surveys the bodies and the damage she thinks winning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  

When the last vampire has been killed the survivors gather by the military shed.  Wordlessly they collect bodies, guilt over their deaths not completely surpassing the relief that it wasn’t them, not this time. 

“Is that all?”  Gunn finally asks.  

Buffy looks around at the smoking remains of the house and the torn down fence.  “That’s it.” 

There are twelve of them left and they follow Buffy back to the bunker.  She’s wired from the fight and anxious to see Angel, make sure he’s alright.  

When they descend the concrete stairs, Giles runs to meet them.  “Are you ok?”  He looks her up and down and then does the same to those behind her.  She can see him counting; those present, those nod.  

“We’re alive,” she says and he nods.  

Buffy scans the room and comes up empty.  “Where’s Angel?”  She demands of Wes, an edge of panic in her tone.  

His eyes widen in alarm.  “I thought he was with you.”  

Buffy feels something in her begin to unravel.  “No, I ran into the fight and you were with him.  You were supposed to bring him down here.”  

Wes is shaking his head in denial.  “No.  When I left the silo he was already gone and I assumed he’d run after you.”  

Buffy feels herself quiver.  “You son of a bitch,” she stalks towards Wes until she’s inches from his face.  “You let him get taken, didn’t you?  You couldn’t stand that him or us, and you let him get taken!”  The entire compound stares at them but she doesn’t notice.  

“And what purpose would that serve?”  Wes’ voice, icily calm, only serves to infuriate her more.  

“Because you want him dead!”  

“Yes, and getting sucked into hell would certainly be the best way to prove my point.”  

“Enough!”  Giles silences the entire bunker.  “We don’t have time for this!  We need to secure our compound and bury our dead.”  He turns to Xander.  “You are arrange around the clock patrols until our fences are rebuilt and wards are secured.  Organize a search party; be certain Angel is nowhere on the compound.  Check every room, every hole, every closet.  We must be absolutely certain he’s not here before we formulate our next plan.” Xander nods and disperses with the troops.  Willow, Tara, Jenny and a few other witches follow behind.  

“The rest of you, research.  We need to determine where Angel is being held and how long we have until Acathla is no longer dormant.  Buffy, Wesley, Willow.  With me.”  

They follow him to the upper level of the coop, where rotting wood and rusty nails barely hold the structure up.  

“What the hell is going on?”  Giles looks furious.  

She and Wes respond at the same time, their words overlapping until Giles snaps at them to be quiet.  “We were supposed to protect Angel!  That was our only goal and now they have him.  They could begin the ritual tonight.”  Buffy looks sideways at Wes, whose face mirrors her own.  Willow looks confused and pensive.  

“I swear I thought he was with you, Buffy.”  Wes’ voice is tight and she nods. 

“So what now?” 

“We have to figure out where they’re holed up or we stand no chance. Willow, can you think of any spell that will work?” 

Wes’ words only make her look more despondent.  “I don’t.  Their wards are powerful and we have nothing to connect us.”  Then her head snaps up.  “Buffy.  We can use Buffy. She can be our connection to Angel.”

Giles arches an eyebrow and Wes frowns. “That would require Buffy to have consummated her relationship with Angel and-“ he catches Buffy’s defiant expression. “Oh.” 

“Very well.” Giles says and looks at his watch. “How long do you need?”

"Give me three hours." Willows already moving, making a beeline for Tara across the field. 

"We need to pour all we have into finding Angel." Giles watches Willow walk away, and Buffy watches his shoulder slump. "Or the vampires will finish what humans couldn't."

+++  
The first thing Angel is aware of when he wakes up is cold steel encircling his wrists.  He pulls experimentally and isn't surprised to find they're bolted to a wall, securely. 

"Well, look who's awake." Darla glides towards him and Angel presses himself against the wall.  "Is that any way to greet your lover?" She fakes indignation.

"Get away from me," he growls and she laughs.  

“Oh please.  You can’t hide behind that soul forever.”  Darla leans down and looks him directly in the eye.  “And soon, you won’t have to.”   Angel grips the chains and pulls to no effect.  

“Glad to see you still have fight left in you,” Darla purrs.  “It will serve you well.”  

They’re underground; he can tell immediately by the smell.  After spending so many years in the mines he’s attuned to the rhythms of the earth and here, where dirt mixes with groundwater, is no different.  There are other vampires around, not just in this small space but in what he envisions to be other passages and then he freezes.  The Master.  Angel’s not been near him in almost two centuries the smell washes him in memories he’d rather forget.  

He slumps, letting his head fall between his knees. How could he have let himself get caught, he thinks and feels his stomach drop when he thinks that he’s let Buffy down.  If Buffy is even alive.  The image of her running into the fire plays itself in his mind on repeat and he wills himself to think of her as he saw her last, curled in the crook of his arm, warm and satisfied.  

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Angelus.”  Darla leans seductively on the wall opposite him.  “You should be thanking us from rescuing you from a hellhole.”  

“Rescuing me?” 

“We should have gotten you sooner, of course, but there was no way we would risk a trip to the mines.”  

He glares but says nothing.

“Can you blame us?”  Darla gives him the once over and looks like she’s smelled something foul.  “In addition to reeking like humanity, you’re a bag of bones.”  She stands up slowly, putting her body on full display and takes the chains between her fingers.  “We probably don’t even need these, but if I recall correctly, you always did like chains.”  

Darla strokes his thigh with her hand and Angel can feel himself responding, his body still crackling from his night with Buffy.  “There’s my boy.” 

“Get away from me,” Angel growls but she doesn’t remove her hand. 

“Or what, Angelus, you’ll hurt me?”  Darla lowers herself onto his lap, straddling his waist and pinning his hands against the wall.  “Because I wouldn’t mind that.”  

She kisses him on the mouth, hard and unforgiving.   Angel doesn’t respond and she bites his lip drawing blood and causing him to cry out.  

“You can’t tell me you don’t miss this.”  He struggles against her but it’s futile; she’s strong in body and he’s weak in mind.  Angel closes his eyes against her advances and she slaps him, jolting his eyes open.  

“I thought we could do things the easy way, lover.”  Darla stands abruptly.  “But I suppose that your filthy soul won’t allow for that.”  

“What do you want?”  

Darla smiles innocently.  “I don’t want much, just the world to return to the way it should be.”  

“That won’t happen.”  Angel’s knows the plan is to suck the world into hell, but he can’t figure out why.  Darla has always enjoyed the luxuries humanity brings and to wake Acathla will destroy all of that.  

“You are so naive,” she says and stands up straight.  “This is not how it should be, Angelus.  Humans have made us their slaves and it’s us who fear them, now.  This is not the natural order of the world.” 

He thinks of the mines, of the physical labor and mental isolation, but says nothing.  

“And now that we have you here, we can finally fix that.”  

“And you think hell is a better choice?”  

Darla shrugs.  “It’ll be more fun.”

“You’re a fool,” he says and she laughs.  

“Yes, Angelus, I’m the fool.  You let yourself get taken by the humans and did manual labor for them for how long?  Then you fell into the idea that you could fit in among the humans.”  Darla pretends to examine her nails.  “They’re all dead, you know.  The Judge wasn’t at full power here but in a matter of minutes I’m sure he was able to obliterate your little tribe.”  

“No,” he says and Darla looks at him in wonder.  

“You actually care, don’t you?  You actually care about humans.  You’re more disgusting than I realized.”  

Angel looks away and Darla leaves the room.  The reprieve will be brief, he knows, because Darla has never tolerated his soul.  Their relationship had been constant but was not love, and she’d barely had patience for the sappy displays of affection between Spike and Dru.  

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the stone wall, letting the voices from the other room fade from words to a din as he lets himself get lost in the memory of Buffy’s touch. 

+++  
Drusilla lights a match and drops it onto his bare chest and Angel cries out, despite his best efforts not to.  He’s been moved to the main room of the underground lair, where the Master sits on a throne and watches in amusement as Dru tortures him.  

“We’ve missed you, Angelus.”  His voice, impaired by his permanently marred features, is almost playful.  “If not for your soul, you would be sitting on my right side.”  From her position next to him Darla smiles.  

“Looks like you’re living the good life,” he forces his tone to be light.  

Drusilla slaps him.  “Don’t be rude, daddy,” she snaps.

“My last attempt to open the mouth to hell left me trapped here,” The Master gestures to their surroundings, and Angel realizes they’re below a building of some kind.  “A church,” The Master says as if reading his mind.  “Poetic, don’t you think?  To be trapped under the house of God?”  

“Pathetic is more like it.”  

The Master smiles.  “This coming from my fallen brethren, chained to a wall by his former family.  It’s of no consequence to me.  This prison will crumble soon enough, one way or another.” 

Dru laughs, reaching for the matches.  “Don’t you want to play?”  Another flame on his chest, extinguishing but not before leaving his skin raw.  He can handle torture because he’s perfected the art of disappearing into his mind.  It hurts, of course, but it won’t break him.  

“We didn’t make the world what it is, my childe.”  A vampire appears in the doorway across the room, holding a human woman by the elbow.  “Humans chose to launch the weapons that nearly made them extinct and sent us underground.”  The woman doesn’t struggle as she’s lead across the room and Angel can see there is no fight left in her eyes.  

“Take this, for example.”  The Master strokes the woman’s face.  “It used to be that we would hunt our prey, reveling in the deliciousness of the hunt, the thrill of the capture.  Humans feared us without really even knowing we existed and the reward was exquisite.”  He sighs theatrically.  “Then they nearly killed themselves off, and that left us in quite a bind.”  

He sinks his teeth into the woman’s throat but before her heart stops beating, he pulls back.  “I’m done with this one,” he says and as the woman is led out of the room Angel can see bite marks on her neck and arms.  

“Human farms,” he whispers and the Master smiles indulgently.  

“It only seems fair.  After all, they invented the system.  We just perfected it.”  

Dru lights another match and Angel barely reacts.    
 “Spike!” Dru looks over her shoulder and Angel can hear the pout in her voice.  “Angel won’t play with me!”

Spike crosses the room and kisses her on the head.  “That’s because you’re playing the wrong game, pet,” he winks at Angel.  “Isn’t she?”  

“Oh, I like the way you’re thinking, my boy.”  The Master rests his hands on the arms of the chair, its formality out of place.

The other vampires, minions hoping to earn favor with the Master, sense a shift and Angel can hear a murmur.  Darla steps down from her chair and watches Spike leave. 

“What are you doing, Spike?”  Her tone is pleasant enough, but Angel can detect a hint of irritation.  The only plans Darla likes are the ones she’s made. 

“Thought we’d get soul boy into the game.”  Spike walks into the room and Angel bolts upright, his attention fixed just behind him.  There’s a human, a girl no older than a teenager, being dragged across the room by her arm. Unlike the other woman, this girl struggles against Spike’s grip.  

“We have human farms, yeah?  But it’s not as simple as that.”  Spike lights a cigarette and exhales a lazy cloud of smoke.  “Did you really consider what it means?  How we keep ourselves alive in this brave new world the humans have created?” 

Angel says nothing and Dru digs a fingernail into a burn.  “Answer him,” she hisses. 

He narrows his eyes.  “No.” 

“Really, they only have themselves to blame,” Spike laughs and Angel doesn’t understand, not at first.  “We had some mishap, trying to figure out how much we can take without killing them, but we’ve gotten the hang of it now.  It’s an ingenious system, and really we only have the humans to thank.”  

Angel feels the room shift.  

“It’s not perfect, of course.  Trying to get them to breed in captivity is becoming a challenge but we’ll get through it.”  Spike’s lips twist cruelly.  “But we can still spare one, every now and then.”  He pulls the girl in front of him.  “This bitch is going to be your next meal.”  

His head starts shaking before his mind fully processes what’s being asked of him.  “No, no, no, no.” 

“I don’t think I’ve given you enough credit, boy.”  The Master laughs.  “This is delicious.”  

Darla glides next to Spike and runs a finger down the woman’s face, who shivers in return.  “I don’t think you understand, Angelus.  You’re going to drink her, and you’re going to kill her.”  

“No.”

“Oh, yes.  And don’t worry Daddy, we can spare one just this once, for you.”  Dru’s smile seems impossibly wide and impossibly cruel.  

“I won’t,” Angel chokes. 

“If that’s what you choose, but I suppose I should tell you the alternative.”  Darla plays to the room, as if everyone’s attention isn’t already focused.  The Master leans back in his chair, fingers tented, as if though he’s watching a theatrical production. “This is Sarah, and the wonderful thing about Sarah is that she has a four year old daughter.”  Dru clasps her hands together and licks her lips.

“I love children,” she whispers.  “They taste so sweet.”  

“We all do, Drusilla, but that’s not the point.”  Darla snaps before turning back to Angel, who feels like his insides are trying to claw his way out.  “If you choose not to kill Sarah, we will release her back to the pens, but we will bring her daughter instead.  And you will watch as we destroy her body and wreck her mind and then, kill her.  And the best part is you’ll always know you could have saved her.”  

Spike presses the butt of his cigarette into Sarah’s arms but she barely reacts, her eyes locked on Angel.  “Please,” she whispers and he can taste her fear. 

“What’s it going to be, Angel?”  Darla smiles and he knows she revels in the weight of his decision.  There’s no choice, of course, because there will be blood on his hands one way or another.  But with Sarah he can control the death and that’s something.  

“Fine,” he whispers and looks at the ground. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Spike cups his ear.  “Can you repeat yourself there?” 

“I’ll do it.  I’ll kill her.”  Dru claps her hands and runs to Spike, who puts an arm around her and kisses her temple.  Darla smiles smugly and drags Sarah over to where Angel is chained.  

“No funny business,” The Master says as Darla pushes the girl to the ground.  “Or the deal is off.” 

Sarah sits up and looks at him, her eyes sad.  “Thank you,” she whispers at the same time he says “I’m sorry,” and then he can stand it no longer.  He lets the demon out and sinks his teeth into her neck and for the first time in over a century drinks warm, human blood.  His body sings and he pushes in deeper, telling himself it’s to make her death faster but unable to deny the pleasure of her essence.  

She whimpers and grabs his arm and it brings Angel crashing back to reality.  The next breath is her last and he pulls away and looks to the ceiling as if though seeking forgiveness that is decidedly not his to have.  He body falls to the floor before backing as far away as the restraints allow.  His veins dance with her life and he pants because even though it doesn’t benefit him it gives his body something to do.  

“That wasn’t so hard now was it?”  Darla nods and a lackey takes the body away.  “Maybe next time we’ll make you turn her.”  He stares at her but she just smiles.  “Turns out even you can be bought.”  

Drusilla appears at Spike’s side, licking her fingers.  “She was so yummy, Spike.  Like clover and cinnamon.”  

It takes Spike a minute but then he’s shaking his head.  “Dru, that wasn’t part of the deal pet.”  

“Screamed for her mother, she did.  Like a choir at Christmas.”  

“BITCH!” Angel roars and puts his body to work pulling at his restraints.  

“Since when do I follow rules, Angelus?”  Darla sighs and kicks him in the stomach, sending him into the wall with enough force to break a human. “Dru, honey, we weren’t supposed to kill her, remember?  She was getting closer to breeding age and god knows we need more humans.”  She sighs, the weight of the world on her shoulders.  

“You won’t be alive long enough,” Angel growls from the floor.  

“What, before your humans come and save the world?  Think again, Angelus.  You’re not going anywhere but hell.”  Darla laughs and Dru picks up a vial of what Angel knows to be holy water.

His chest burns and he thinks of Buffy and prays to a God who has forsaken him that she’s still alive.

+++  
The air is heavy with energy and Buffy can feel goosebumps on her skin.  Willow and Tara sit at the center of a circle, hands joined, eyes closed. They’re deep in chanting and meditation but she can’t look away, drawn to the intimacy of the ritual.  Strictly speaking Buffy doesn’t need to be here but they’re doing the locator spell and even the time it would take someone to find her seems too long to wait.  

So she paces near the fence, hobbled together and barely standing.  But it’s something and that’s more than they had this morning.  She and Xander had patrolled all day but there was nothing and in some ways that was worse; the vampires had gotten what they needed and no longer perceived their compound as a threat.  Despite the research and the repairs and moving of people from the farmhouse into the barn, they were at a standstill.  The raising of Acathla required Angel’s blood and unless they figured out soon where they were holding him, they would all be dead.  

Buffy moves closer to the circle but stops when she sees Wes on the other side.  Too late.  He closes the distance between them and stands next to her, eyes fixed on Willow and Tara. 

“I didn’t let him get taken, Buffy.”  

“I know,” she says and finds it’s the truth.  “It was my fault, I just needed someone to blame.”  

“I wish you had told me about you and Angel.”  

“There was nothing to tell.”  Buffy aches at the thought of Angel’s hands on her, his lips pressed against hers.  “Or, nothing I knew how to tell.” 

Wes is silent for a moment.  “I’m sorry I overreacted.”  

“Me too.”  

“Do you love him?”  Buffy feels Wes’ eyes on her, studying her. 

“Yes.”  Her cheeks flush and she tips her chin up.  

“But he’s vampire!”  Wes clears his throat and lowers his voice.  “I don’t understand how the Slayer can love her mortal enemy.”  

Buffy is about to snap when she looks at Wes, until she realizes he’s not condemning her he’s trying to understand.  “Angel has a soul, his human soul.  I don’t love the demon, I love his soul.”  

“They’re entwined, Buffy.  Angel may walk like a man and talk like a man but he is still a demon.”  

“I know.  Logically, I know.  But….” she rubs her hand across her heart and turns back to the circle.  “It’s rarely about logic.”  

They’re silent again, but this time it’s less tense and Buffy is grateful for that.  

“Just be careful,” Wes says but before she can reply Willow and Tara break apart and turn to look for her.  Buffy breaks into a run.

“Well?” She demands, helping them to their feet.  They exchange a look and Buffy crosses her arms impatiently.  

“We found him.  But we can’t do this alone.”  

+++  
“No.  Absolutely not.”  

Giles frowns at Buffy’s outburst.  “It’s our best option.”  

“It’s our only option,” Jenny interjects. “The military has the manpower and the firepower that we lack.”

“No, our best option is to take them with the element of surprise.”  Buffy paces around the bunker feeling like a caged animal.  “They won’t see us coming if we move quickly.”  

“We don’t actually know what Drusilla will or won’t see.”  Giles speaks calmly but firmly.  “I’m not going to take that risk.”  

“If Willow says there are too many, then there are too many.”  Xander is firm, having thrown his support to Giles’ plan.  “We move out in the next hour or so and we can be there by sundown tomorrow.”  

Buffy stalks toward Xander.  “How can you think this is a good plan, Xander?  We left, remember?  Fled?  Because they killed my mother?”  

“Yeah, Buffy, like any of us could forget that.”  Xander’s tone is acid and Buffy takes a step back, stung.  “This isn’t about you, or me, or even what they’re doing wrong.  It’s about saving the world and I’ll be damned if we all go to hell over some goddamned grudge.”  

“He’s right, Buffy,” Tara says quietly after a moment.  “There are too many and we’re going to need a lot more firepower.”  

Buffy braces her hands on the desk.  “And how do we get them to understand that Angel is a good guy?  Make sure they don’t kill him?”  

“Not seeing how that’s part of the big picture.”  Gunn arches an eyebrow and Buffy glares at him.  

“We’ll do what we can, Buffy, but our priority is preventing Acathla from waking.” Giles ignores Gunn.  “We have to move now if we have hopes of getting to them before they begin the ritual.”  

Buffy stares at Xander and he bristles.  “Fine.  But this is bullshit.”  

+++  
They take two of their military vans, each holding ten people. Jenny had insisted on going and Buffy had acquiesced only on the condition that Giles and Wes remain behind.  Buffy had won that argument and she was fine with Wes’ pride being wounded if it meant he would still be alive at the end of all this. 

“I’m sorry he was taken,” Willow say from the bench across from Buffy. “That our spell didn’t keep them out.” 

“It’s not your fault,” she says although bile rises in her throat. “How could we know?” 

“We’ll get him back, Buffy.” Tara sounds certain and she tries to find comfort in her words. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about their night together since the battle began but now she’s opened a door she can’t close.  Angel wasn’t her first but he was the first one that she was in love with and Buffy can feel the difference now, between sex and love.  She lets her eyes drift closed and remembers how his hands trembled when he touched her, and how she’d never felt more beautiful.  How he had whispered in her ear as he entered her that he loved her, and she had come harder enough to break her.  She’d woken before him, before Wes had come banging on the door, and had been delighted to find his arms wrapped around him, and the first peaceful expression on his face since she’d met him.  His body had been warm, absorbing her heat, and Buffy had finally understood what it meant to be home.   

The truck lurches to a stop and Gunn looks back from the driver’s seat.  “We’re here.”  

They’d gone over the plan a dozen times before leaving the compound but seeing their old home gives Buffy nerves she can’t quiet.  “Let’s go.”  

The fence is tall and new looking and for the first time in years it strikes Buffy how far behind they are in their own compound.  They walk to the entrance and their arrival is not unexpected; they were likely spotted before they’d even stopped the vans.  

“Riley Finn,” she barks to the guard at the door before he has a chance to speak.  

“And who are you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her. 

Buffy stands up straighter.  “Buffy Summers.” 

+++  
Angel can’t tell how much time has passed, only that it’s been long enough for the effect of properly feeding for the first time in years to wear off.  Healed wounds have been replaced with fresh ones, Dru’s sadistic streak heightened by her resentment of his soul.  She’d moved from holy water and matches to a piece of rebar. 

“Come on now, Daddy,” Dru says as she trails the metal tip along his thigh.  “Don’t you want to play with me?”  She drives the point home and he twists but she’s stronger and pins him down.  “I love it when you scream for me.  Like music to my ears.”  

Darla smiles.  “Soon we’ll be rid of this pesky soul and we can get down to business.”  

A cold shiver runs up Angel’s spine at the thought of Angelus but he says nothing.  The spell has anchored his soul but it isn’t something he’s anxious to test; the demon sings at the thought of death and bloodshed and hell.  

“He’s going to be mad at me,” Dru holds her head in her hands and sways.  “He’ll be so mad that I’ve hurt him.”  She grins wickedly.  “Maybe he’ll hurt me back.”  

Darla smiles indulgently.  “Why don’t you go prepare for our guest, Dru?”  

The weight on his waist vanishes as Dru stands up, giggling and clapping her hands. “A party!” 

Angel struggles to pull himself up against the stone wall, his wounds screaming with every move.  

“You make me sick.”  Darla narrows her eyes.  “But you won’t have your soul for much longer.  A mage, very old, very powerful - he owes me a favor.  And taking a soul is one of his favorite things to do.”  

Angel stares at her, but says nothing. 

“I saw him take a soul, once, a long time ago.”  The Master walks behind Darla and trails his finger down her back.  “It looked painful, lots of screaming.”  

“In the meantime, I thought we’d have some more fun.”  Darla grins and turns towards the entrance, where Spike is dragging two men by their collars.  Angel squeezes his eyes shut tightly but Darla slaps him across the cheek.

“Wake up,” she spits. 

“Let me go, please,” one man pleads and Angel can see tears in his eyes.  “Please.  Don’t kill me.”  

“Oh shut up,” Spike rolls his eyes and throws both men on the floor in a heap.  “Crying isn’t very manly now is it?”  But the words fall on deaf ears as the man cries silently, the other staring at Darla with a hard expression on his face. 

“Angelus, one of these men is going to die tonight.”  She pauses and lets the words sink in, reveling in his pain.  “And you’re going to decide who.”  

+++  
From his place curled up on the floor Angel is only vaguely aware that the energy in the air around him has changed.  He is responsible for the death of two humans, both at his hand, and he can feel his soul weeping and the demon rejoicing.  The man had glared at him and it was worse than if he had begged or pleaded or cried because it made it easier.  And killing a human should never be easy. 

He tries to justify it, knows that if he had refused it would have made death infinitely more unbearable for both men, but he cannot allow himself forgiveness. 

Darla kicks him in the stomach and he is shaken from his reverie.  

“Say goodbye to your soul, Angelus.”  Her eyes shine in anticipation and Angel can see the crowd that has gathered to watch.  Dru burrows into Spike’s side, looking like a child on Christmas and while Spike looks less than pleased, Angel can’t remember seeing him smile since he’s been here. The Master leans forward on his chair.  

“This is the Sorcerer and he is going to take your soul.”  Darla leans in, as if though to whisper conspiratorially.  “I can’t say I am going to miss it.”  

The mage begins chanting and panic swells in Angel as he feels the dark magick whip around him, swirl through him.  A pain that is so hot it almost feels cold rips through his chest and hears an animalistic scream, realizing from a distance that it is him.  For a fleeting second he thinks he’s going to be ripped into an infinite number of pieces until as quickly as it arrive, the pain leaves.  

Angel crumples like a puppet with no strings, and it takes him a moment to realize the weight of his soul has not been lifted.  He remains still.

“Well?”  

“It is done,” the mage tells Darla. “Our debt here is settled.” Then he’s gone.  

“Angelus?”  Darla steps closer to him and he sees Buffy’s face in his mind as he remembers her last, determined attempt to save the world and charging into fire.  There is a very real chance she’s dead, he knows this, but it’s suddenly imperative that her memory not be in vain.

“Hello, lover.”  Angel rises, pushing aside his soul and drawing strength from the demon.  “It’s been a while.”  

Even if he dies trying. 

+++  
“So let me get this straight,” Riley says from where he leans against a wall across from her.  “You need our help to defeat a demon determined to suck us all into hell.  And we need to leave right now.”  

Their arrival at the military compound was met with less fanfare than Buffy had thought.  They’d been escorted in by armed guards until they were determined to be human and then they’d been told to wait.  The commander, Forrest, had grown up with them and when he gave the order to wait and smirked, Buffy had pinned him against the wall.  Xander had finally stepped between them, saving Forrest’s windpipe and conveying the urgency of their mission. Riley had arrived a few minutes later and if he was shaken at all by their arrival it didn’t show in his demeanor.  

Buffy nods and forces herself to remain calm.  She’s seated at a table, giving up the position of power, and her foot taps impatiently.  “Yes.  Like, right now.”  

Riley stares at her.  “What makes you think we want to help you?”  

“Oh I don’t know, Riley.  The desire to stay alive?” Buffy knows she sounds snippy but the military base makes her uncomfortable.  She doesn’t trust them, doesn’t fully believe she’ll make it out of here alive even if half of her crew are just outside the door.

“And if I say no?”

“Then it’s your death wish.”  Buffy snaps with exasperation and turns toward the door, her mind in overdrive as she formulates another plan that will allow them to rescue Angel and save the world without additional manpower.  Her hand in on the handle to the door when Riley speaks.  

“You left, Buffy.  You didn’t say anything to me.  You just left.”  

“They killed my mom.”  She turns back around and forces herself to calm down. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Your mom was killed by a vampire.”  Riley narrows his eyes.  

“Did it ever occur to you how that happened?  Do you really believe that one vampire just happened to slip past the guards, and fences, and alarms?  Think about it, Riley.  Really think about it.”  

“You’re out of your mind.”  Riley looks defensive and Buffy shakes her head.  

“Whatever, Riley.”  

“Don’t you whatever me!”  His hands bang on the table and she jumps.  “I thought you were dead, Buffy.  They told me you left, and I thought you were dead.  Why didn’t you find me?”  

“Did you come looking for me?”  The shift in conversation catches Riley off guard. 

“What?”

“Did you leave the compound and come looking for me?  Given that you were so concerned about me?”  

“No.  They told me it was a lost cause.”  

Buffy smiles sadly.  “That’s why I didn’t come looking for you.  You put your faith in the military before anything else and I couldn’t do that anymore.”  

Riley tilts his head as he looks at her, and for a moment Buffy thinks it’s the first time he’s really seeing her.  “I thought I loved you,” he finally says.  

“I know.  But if you’d loved me, you would have come after me no matter the consequences.”  

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asks and it’s Buffy’s turn to be caught off guard. 

“That’s not relevant.”  Her tone is defensive.  “Death is certain, but I’m not interested in waiting for it.”  

Riley nods slowly and Buffy feels a weight she didn’t know she was carrying lift.  

“If we help, you have to promise me something.  When this is over, we figure out a way to work together.”   Buffy starts to shake her head but Riley holds up his hand. “I’m serious, Buffy.  We need to combine our resources.  Stop surviving, start living.”  

A world where everyone lives together sounds like it’s too good to be true and in her experience, that generally means it is.  But they’re out of time and she’s not so certain there will be a world to return to, and so she agrees.  She can worry about the consequences later.  

+++  
Buffy stands against a concrete wall as the military loads their vans, Xander and Gunn blending in among the trained military.  Her decision to leave had been without question but looking at Xander she’s filled with the familiar nagging that he left for the wrong reasons.  Someone sidles up beside her and she jumps. 

“You’re Buffy, yeah?”  The voice belongs to a man in his mid thirties who’s dressed loudly.  

“Who’s asking?”  She means to sounds intimidating but knows her tone comes off as tired.  

“Name’s Whistler,” he says and she furrows her brow in recognition.  

“Angel’s Whistler?”  

He bristles.  “Don’t tend to think of myself like that, but yeah, ok. You know Angel?”

Buffy folds her arms across her chest.  “Yeah.”  

“Oh god,” Whistler says and shakes his head.  “Tell me you didn’t stake him.”  

“What? No.”  Whistler lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief.  “Why are you here?  Didn’t think the military took too kindly to demons.”  

Whistler looks around and lowers his voice.  “Watch it kid, that’s my trade secret.  I’m here because I need protection.  Escaped one of those demon farms and came here and guess I was human enough to pass.”  

Buffy looks back to where Riley is giving orders.  “Is there something you needed?”  

“Yeah, I need to talk to Angel.”  Whistler straightens and Buffy frowns.  

“He’s not here.”  The explanation gets lodged in her throat and she clears it.  “He was captured during a raid.” 

Whistler stares at her for a moment.  “You’re joking, right?  Slayer humor?  Because the Powers made it pretty damn clear that Angel’s blood will open Acathla .  Did they need to spell it out any clearer?  You were supposed to protect him, Slayer!”  His raised voice attracts Xander’s attention but Buffy shakes her head once and he doesn’t come over.  

“Yeah well, I was getting pretty tired of this whole living thing and thought we’d give hell a try.”  Buffy tilts her chin up and feels her nostrils flare.  “Where do you think we’re headed?  We’re going to save Angel or die trying and unless you have something useful to add get the hell out of my way.”  

Buffy turns away from him but a hand on her arm stops her.  “Slayer. Wait.”  Whistler hands her a long, narrow item she hadn’t noticed leaning against the wall.  It’s wrapped in black cloth and when she goes to unravel it Whistler stays her hand.  “The sword of the knight that fought Acathla , and won.  Came into my hands a while ago, and now it’s in yours.” 

Buffy lifts it and feels the weight in her hands.  “Thank you.”

“It’s not enough, Slayer.  You have to be prepared to use it.”  Whistler tips his hat and turns to walk away.  Buffy’s stare lingers long after he’s disappeared. 

+++  
They have added three more vans their caravan, each full of soldiers.  Under Xander’s direction the groups have mixed which allows them to use the time before they get to Acathla to fill in the military and develop a strategic plan.  

“What, we can’t just stake ‘em all?”  One of the soldiers ask and the others start whooping.  

“No,” Riley says from his position in the front.  “We need to concentrate on destroying Acathla .”  He holds up a drawing that Giles had supplied before they left.  “Destroy as many hostiles as you can, but not at the expense of the mission.”  

There’s a nervous energy in the van, borne of elite training and not enough real world practice.  It’s a feeling she’s intimately acquainted with and it terrifies her to think that her lack of experience will kill them all.  

+++  
Darla’s mouth crushes Angel’s and immediately notices two things: her lips are ice, like his, and she’s not Buffy.  He fights the urge to shove her away but resists and instead focuses on convincing her he is the demon that shared her bed for over a century. 

When enough time has passed he bites her lip, drawing blood, and grins wickedly when she pulls away.  “Miss me?”  

“Angelus,” she breathes.  

“Who do I need to thank for getting rid of that soul?”  The presence of his soul does not eradicate the demon, but he has cultivated the ability to overcome his darker urges. Angel pictures reigns, like on a carriage, and then imagines him loosening them to let the demon closer to the surface.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.  

“That would be me, of course,” Darla purrs.

“I bet you’re waiting for me to sing your praises,” he walks around, taking in the exits.  He stops when he is directly opposite her.  “But it certainly took you long enough.”

Darla smiles seductively.  “Come on now, lover, you can’t honestly tell me you’re going to dwell on that.”  

Anger that Angel has kept tamped down, first for survival in the mines and then for acceptance in the Watcher's compound, bubbles to the surface.  “I spent almost a century in an alley, eating rats.  And then I spent three decades in the mines.  Have you heard of them?”  He doesn’t wait for a reply, relishing in catching her off guard.  “Let me fill you in.  You’re starved, beaten and forced to do manual labor all day.  Every day.  But I get it, you didn’t need me then.”  

Darla’s eyes are ice behind her smile.  “You would have done the same.” 

She’s right and he grins wickedly, closing the gap between them and slamming her against the wall.  “Seems we have some unfinished business to attend to,” he growls.  

“Oh, goodie,” Spike says from across the room and Angel raises his eyebrows.  

“Care to join?”  But Darla cuts him off.  

“You’re all mine this time,” she bites his ear and leads him into an offshoot of the main room.  

It’s been over a century since Angel has shared her bed but the time hasn’t erased his memories.  He moves viciously, drawing blood when he scrapes her back and thrusting into her so hard she breaks apart.  

If Buffy had been sunshine, Darla is lightening.  

“Angelus,” she moans and Angel shoves her face into the bed, wishing suffocation would bring death.  She comes and then he comes, feeling his cold, dead seed fill her.  

For a long moment he doesn’t move, and when he does it’s to throw Darla off him and lay back on the bed, stretching out.  

“Good to see you haven’t lost your touch.” 

Angel stares at her. “Good thing you’re still predictable.”  He pulls his pants and shirt back on. 

“Ouch,” she says and holds her hands over her heart.  “You always were cruel.  I made you, you know.” 

“So what, you assume I want to suck the world into Hell, too?”  Angel pretends to look bored.  “Did it ever occur to you that I wouldn’t be interested in your little scheme?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Darla smiles coyly and stalks toward him.  “We used to dream of this Angelus, remember?  Of reigning in hell?” 

Angel knows he’s not strong enough to take them all, and forces his mind to work quickly because he knows his best chance is to stall them until the time for the ritual has passed.  It is not a perfect plan, but if he can get past tonight he can figure out a way to destroy them, or himself.  “It’s been a while since I’ve been around, I think I want to wreak havoc on the world for a little while before we destroy it.”  

“Wake up, Angelus,” Darla snaps as she dresses.  “There is nothing left for us here.  No more hunting, no freedom, just this miserable existence and I am tired of waiting.”  

“It’s too bad you need me then, isn’t it?”  Darla eyes him for a moment, her chin tilted up and eyes challenging, but doesn’t back down.  

“Let’s have a drink.”  She crosses the room and loops her arm through his.  “We can finish this later but first, I bet you’re hungry.”  

Angel lets her lead him up through the ruined church and outside, into a fenced in enclosure large enough to hold a few dozen humans and some ramshackle shelters.  He stops, overwhelmed by the fear and despair rolling off the people, who are half starved and wild eyed.    
 “Genius, aren’t we?”  Darla mistakes his expression and Angel forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat.  “Figured if they can capture us for their needs, we can do the same.”  

The approach of the vampires changes the energy in the pen.  Most of the humans cower, moving into shelter and standing protectively in front of their children.  Others remain in the open, defiant in the face of what is likely certain death.  Angel smells blood and realizes that most of the humans have open wounds, evidence of their purpose.  

“This is genius,” he forces himself to say but the words sound far away.  Darla beams at his praise and opens the door.  

“You can have your pick, dear boy.  Normally we’d require that you only take enough to get by but tonight we’ll be awash in blood.  It’s a celebration!” 

“I’m not that interested, truth be told.”  He forces his tone to be level, bored.  “There’s no thrill here.”

Darla tilts her head and the smile on her lips sends a chill down his spine.  “Don’t be silly, Angelus.  I can see your ribs from here.”  

She’s exaggerating but her point is made.  He is hungry, he cannot deny that, and the demon sings in tune with the blood around him and Angel knows that this is where he will have to determine if the ends justify the means.

In his mind, Buffy runs into the fire. 

He twists his lips into a cruel smile and steps into the camp, grabbing the first human he sees and driving his teeth into the neck.  It’s the third human he’s fed on in two days and he can feel the demon getting stronger, pushing his soul deeper.  In a matter of moments the life is drained from the man and he hears the heart stop beating.  Forgive me, he thinks as the body falls to the ground.  For I have sinned.

+++  
Darla is laying out what’s needed for the materials, heedless of Angel’s casual protests.  He’s been with her long enough to know that his words are falling on deaf ears, because when she’s determined to do something she will do it. 

Dru dances nearby, swaying to music only she can hear.  Spike watches from the wall, disinterested.

“What, not going to join the welcome to hell bandwagon?”  Angel keeps his tone casual. 

“Not really my bag,” he says and runs a hand through his bleached hair.  “Don’t think the humans in pens are so bad.”  

“It kills me to say this, Spike, but I agree with you.”  Spike cuts his eyes sideways.  

“I think you’ve had that soul too long, bleeding into your brain now.  You used to tout this as much as Darla did.”  

Angel shrugs.  “Been cooped up too long, my boy. Looking to stretch my legs a bit.  This just feels like cheating.”  

“Eh, what can you do then?”  Spike watches Dru, who glides across the floor.  “She’s like my Dru, she is.  Gets her mind made up and nothing you can do to stop it.”  

“We could, you know.”  The words are casual but Angel watches Spike carefully, noticing the tightening of his jaw. 

“You’re back what, a day?  And you think you can overthrow your side?”  

“Not overthrow, just stall.  Wait a month or so.”  

Spike pushes himself off the wall.  “You need to remember you place, sire.”  

Angel watches him take his place with Dru, who smiles as Spike reaches his arms around her waist.  He remembers, then, the innocence he’d destroyed and almost doubles over.  Across the room he meets Darla’s eyes and she stares at him.  He forces himself to stare back, to not look away first, to smile.  After a long moment she returns to the ritual but does not smile at him.  

+++  
Their caravan stops a mile from their destination.  They move quietly, the stakes of their mission commanding silence.  The teams have already been made and Buffy is leading the first, Riley close behind.  They’ll flank the building and make first contact, followed closely by the rest of their troops.  

Riley nods and Buffy takes off.  She ducks through branches of low hanging trees, weighed down by snow.  It used to be a novelty, snow in this part of the country, but it’s all she’s ever known.  

Ten minutes later a building comes into view.  It’s almost unrecognizable save for the large cross, but Buffy can tell it was at one point a church and likely a beautiful one at that.  Amongst the wreckage stained glass peeks through, snow capped saints in a perpetual state of prayer.  Buffy takes in the rest, directing Riley’s attention to what looks like a cage set up behind the ruins.  It looks like it may contain humans but she can’t worry about that, not yet.  

A nod, and they’re off.

+++  
It happens quickly.  

Darla beckons Angel to her and he moves slowly, masking his fear as a saunter.  She explains the ritual and he cocks his head and listens carefully before coming to the realization that there is nothing he can do to stop it.  The sword that sticks out of Acathla , the one his blood will allow him to pull, tells him all he needs to know.  

Death, then.  

“Are you listening?”  Darla pins him under her stare and he laughs, freed by the knowledge that there’s nothing she can do to hurt him, not anymore.  

“I don’t know why you’re making it out to be so complicated.”  

“This isn’t a joke, Angelus.  Everything needs to go smoothly.”  The Master steps between them and cups Darla’s face.  

“You don’t know how much this one means to me, Angelus.  A gift.” He pauses, seemingly lost in her eyes.  “Nothing else matters except for this.”  

A vampire emerges from outside, a child no older than six in tow.  Angel freezes and Spike laughs.

“This is what you choose for the ritual?  How poetic.”  

“I remember Angelus having a fondness for the young ones,” and Angel knows from the way her eyes piece him, penetrating and unforgiving, that she knows.  But the others don’t and that’s all he has. 

“Don’t you think we could use one more substantial?”  He pretends to look dismissively at the child, his soul crying for release.  

“They’re coming.” Dru falls to the ground in the middle of the room, her hands on her head.  “Oh they’re coming and they’re not happy.”  

“Who?” Darla snaps.  “Who’s coming?”

Dru’s eyes focus on Angel and beneath the madness he knows that she can see, too.  “They’re coming for daddy.” 

Angel turns to run, the hope that Buffy is still alive burning him, but Darla tackles him, pinning him to the ground with little effort.  The chains are still there and she fastens them to his wrist as he thrashes.     
“This is your master plan?”  He taunts.  “Tie me up and what?  The Slayer is coming, Darla.” 

But Darla doesn’t speak.  She grabs the child and drains her, moving with efficiency and none of her usual finesse and the body falls to the floor in a heap.  When she turns on him her eyes blaze gold and she stalks toward him.  He fights as she cuts her chest, remembering the promise of the first time he drank from her.  But this time there is only despair and he cannot overpower Darla as she forces him to drink from her.  

When Darla pulls him off he’s dizzy and she rips the bracket from the wall, dragging him across the floor towards Acathla .  Angel fights, limbs flailing, but it’s useless.  Dru claps and Spike sneers and Darla slices his palm, forcing his blood slicked hand onto the hilt of the sword.  

“Nice try, Angelus,” she hisses in his ear.  "We could have reigned forever."

Angel howls as Darla places her hands over his, pulling the sword from the large statue. She stands, expectantly, but nothing happens.

"Maybe it's broken," he spits and she kicks him in the groin, knocking him to the ground.

At that moment Buffy appears, armed and tense and lethal. She charges in leading a pack of well armed humans. Behind him another group joins them, led by the same military general who had pulled Angel from the mines, Finn. 

The humans are well armed but they don't have vampire strength, and Angel watches helplessly as one goes down. The vampires watching the ritual had lined the walls and he realizes now it was strategic, because Angel, Darla and the Master are protected in the inner ring.  Spike had been in the other room with Dru, and Angel watches as he makes a stealthy exit, Dru slung over his shoulder.  

He presses himself against the wall and watches the madness unfold, following Buffy. She moves with lethal grace, slowing down only to wield her sword to slice of a vampire's head. Their eyes meet and he feels something inside him swell with hope, or pride, or a mixture of two.

"You have got to be kidding me," Darla sneers from where she stands beside him. "Angelus is in love with a Slayer?"

His stomach clenches as Darla picks up her sword and crosses the room to where the Slayer has broken through the ranks.

"You must be Darla." Buffy hoists her sword.

"And you're going to be dead soon, little girl." Darla charges but Buffy ducks the attack, barely. Buffy is strong but Darla has more experience and she laughs as a hit sends Buffy flying.

"Buffy!" Angel yells before he can stop himself and Darla turns to him. The momentary distraction is   
all Buffy needs and the sword slices Darla's arm.

"Bitch," she hisses and turns around. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"No?" Buffy says as she spins out of the way of the blade before returning with a hit of her own. "Let me guess, you're evil? And judging by the lines around your eyes, I'd say you're almost ancient."

Darla advances, driving Buffy back before she's able to evade the attack, barely. "What are you fighting for, Slayer? Acathla will wake and you will be a slave in hell."

Buffy grunts and thrusts, knocking Darla off balance. "That's not going to happen."

"Too late. The ritual is done, thanks to Angelus."

Buffy cuts her eyes at Angel and Darla takes advantage of that, pressing her against the wall. "I know you think he loves you, and that he's different from the rest, but let me assure you he's not."

Darla has pinned Buffy, but she doesn't give up. "He has his soul."

"Ah yes, and what a fine soul it is. Since he's been here he's killed three humans. And we spent some quality time catching up." She leans in close and winks at Buffy. "I have the scratches to prove it."

To her credit Buffy doesn't break eye contact with Darla. "Go to Hell."

Darla uses her dominant position to pull her sword back and prepares to drive it forward and Buffy cannot stop her. Around them all Hell has broken loose and no one is close enough to come to her aid. Angel forces himself up and then uses the last of his strength to propel himself across the room, throwing his chains around Darla's neck and pulling her off Buffy.

She sputters, knocked off balance, and Angel doesn't give her a moment to recover. He pulls the chains tighter until he can feel her neck sever.

"Angelus," she whispers before she crumbles into dust. For a moment the world seems to stop until the Master’s howl breaks the silence.  

“Slayer!” he bellows.  

“Oh, look.  You’re even uglier,” she says and then launches into an attack.  Angel rights himself and swings the chains, knocking the Master off balance.  With Spike and Dru gone the other vampires fall fairly quickly and the remaining soldiers join the fight against the Master.  Bullets make him jerk, but he pulls himself up and continues toward Buffy.  

“Stories are written about us, little girl,” he sneers as he closes in on her.  “You’re my destiny.”  

“Good thing I don’t believe in destiny,” she says as she side steps his attack.  But he recovers quickly and she spins to the ground.  Angel lunges toward her, demon at the surface, but he’s knocked back by Jenny Calendar. 

“Don’t think so, demon,” she sneers and reaches for a stake.  Angel roars as another arm stays the stake.  

“No,” Xander growls but doesn’t look at Angel. “We need him.” 

Across the room, Buffy screams, a primal noise rift with pain and fear and frustration.  The Master has pinned her against the wall and Angel screams as his teeth pierce her neck and she falls to the ground and lands in a puddle.  Xander grabs Darla’s fallen sword and charges the Master, who is looking up into the church.  

“Freedom,” he whispers and starts to move.  Riley grabs Buffy’s sword and the two charge the Master, who bats away Riley’s attack but leaves himself vulnerable to Xander’s.  The sword slices the air faster than Angel would have thought him capable of and severs the Master’s neck.  There’s a moment of silence and all that remains is a pile of bones.  

Across the room Buffy remains face down in the puddle. Her heartbeat slows until it stops.  

The soldier restraining him finally loosens his grip enough to let him through, followed by Riley and Xander.  “Buffy,” he whispers as he turns her face up, desperately seeking a pulse but finding none.  

“She needs CPR,” Xander barks and Angel looks up, helpless.  

“I can’t, I have no breath,” his words are barely audible as Finn pulls her from him, his lips meeting hers.  The room is silent save for Finn’s steady compressions on her chest and breath into her lungs.  After what feels like an eternity she sputters, coughs, and opens her eyes. 

“Angel,” she breathe.

“Buffy,” he whispers.  

“Are we ok?” she asks as she forces herself into a sitting position. 

“You need to rest,” Finn says.

“No, I can rest later.”  He looks at her for a long moment, then back to Angel.  He’s pushed the demon’s face away but the damage has been done, as evidenced by the look of contempt on the soldier’s face.  

“The team out back is releasing the humans.”  He finally says, and Angel appreciates the path of least resistance.  

“Are they ok?” 

“Malnutrition, some frostbite, but in general they should be fine.  We’ll bring them back to base.”  His eyes soften and he reaches out for Buffy, gently touching her arm.  “Are you ok? You were dead.” 

“I’m fine,” she says, an automatic answer.  “How did you fare?”  

Finn accepts the rejection in stride and his tone returns to businesslike.  “We lost a few, but overall we’re ok.”  

Buffy looks like she is going to say something else when a deep rumbling interrupts them.  Fear clenches Angel’s heart and even before he turns around he knows what it is - Acathla is waking up.  

“Shit,” Buffy curses under her breath.  Behind them, the humans begin to back up.  “Out!”  She orders, pulling herself to her feet, “everyone out!”  Then it’s just them, Finn, Xander and Jenny.  “You, too, Riley.”  She says softly but he shakes his head. 

“I’m staying.”  

Fear has been replaced by dread and Angel stares at the statue, a glowing gold circle where his mouth had been.  He’d been around enough prophecies to know that where blood opens, blood closes.  

“Buffy,” he whispers and forces himself to look away from the statue.  

“There has to be another way,” she says matter of factly and he finds relief in knowing they’ve reached the same understanding.  

“There’s not.”  Behind them the rumbling grows louder and Riley and Xander grip their weapons tighter.  

“I can’t lose you, Angel.  Not now.  Not like this.”  Behind her determination Angel can see tears and he reaches his hand to her cheek.  

“I wasn’t anything until I met you.  I never meant to hurt you.  Everything I did, it was for you.”  He smiles, sadly, and leans his forehead against hers.  

“Shh,” she says and kisses him.  Her lips are salty and he breathes in deeply, soaking in her essence.  

“I love you,” she whispers. She takes his hand in her own and unsheathes a knife from her waistband and slices it through his palm, letting his blood soak her hand. Angel looks at her, then at his hand and then smiles sadly because he knows that this will not work. 

“Buffy,” he says and she presses her finger against his lips. 

“No,” she says. “No.” 

The vortex pulls at him and he knows with certainty that this is the end because it’s not just his blood Acathla craves, it’s his essence. “I love you,” he whispers and then hears her scream as he’s ripped away from her. 

+++

Four months later

In the end they lost ten of their own, and the military lost another five.  Buffy knows she’s not supposed to think of them as separate units, not anymore, but she can’t help it.  She’s not comfortable abandoning the Watcher’s compound and returning to the military base even if logically she recognizes it as a sound move.  

After Acathla had closed Buffy refused to leave the statue, now dormant and ancient looking. Eventually she’d let Riley and Xander guide her out of the church and into one of the vans.  Tara and Willow had sat on either side of her, giving her more comfort than she would have thought possible of silence.  When they’d finally arrived back at their own compound Wes had wordlessly enveloped her in a hug but it hadn’t broken through the numbness.  

It was only when she fell into her own bed, Angel’s scent lingering on her pillow, between the sheets, on the blanket, that she let herself cry.  

The vote to leave their compound, which was destroyed in the attack, was unanimous. Buffy sat in the back corner as they’d voted, her anger forming a barrier around her. She’d made the deal with Riley out of desperation and a kind of certainty that it would never come to that but in the end it was Giles who had surprised her by agreeing to the plan to combine their forces. 

The move had been completed in one trip, and the transition to life on the base had been with enthusiasm. Buffy couldn’t blame them, not really. The quarters are nicer than anything they had at the Watcher’s compound.  Hot water, iceboxes, indoor plumbing; even Buffy can’t begrudge her comrades their excitement. Her own room is small and unadorned with any trappings of her former life and she spends as little time as possible there. Instead she wanders, patrolling and often ending up on Willow and Tara’s couch. They don’t require conversation and most nights she just listens as they talk, or work on their spells, or play cards.

Sometimes Willow holds her hand on the couch and Buffy can feel her pain, too. Oz had been among the people in the camp behind the Master’s lair and Willow is torn between her love for Tara and history with Oz. Buffy listens, and says the right thing, but inside she’s bitter that Willow has two people and she has none. 

Riley had tried, patiently at first and finally losing his temper at the fact she couldn’t move on from what he considered a moment of insanity and after that their relationship had cooled until it was civil and professional. Together they trained and led the armed forces of their compound, but beyond that she simply didn’t acknowledge him. 

Jenny had moved in with Giles and Buffy avoided them, save for her weekly meetings with Giles. Wes remained her Watcher and Buffy begrudgingly let him after he had remained by her side, unwavering even as she had unloaded her anger time and again. His levelness balanced her mood swings and it had become their habit to have breakfast and often dinner together.

Buffy feels like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop as the days tick by. Their integration to the military compound is smoother than she’d thought and before long she stops locking her door at night. Her anger towards Giles thaws and she has even been able to tolerate Jenny so long as the conversation remains neutral. 

And just when Buffy feels like she might, finally, resurface, it all comes crashing down. 

+++  
“You’ll need to secure the area, be sure there is nothing that would indicate Spike or Drusilla or any other vampires have attempted to return.” Giles gives his directions to their small group, which includes Maggie Walsh, Riley, Forrest, Xander, Tara and Willow. 

“I thought that was taken care of months ago,” Willow says, echoing Buffy’s own thoughts. “What’s going on?” 

“Doyle had a vision. It was vague, moreso than most, but it portends that something is coming.” 

“Acathla ?” Buffy swallows hard. “With Acathla ?” 

Giles shakes his head slowly, his expression apologetic. “We don’t know, Buffy. But we have to be sure that all of our loose ends are tied up and this, unfortunately, is one we have yet to properly deal with.” 

“When do we leave?” Riley is scribbling information on his notepad. “How many?” 

“We’ll take one van,” Maggie cuts in, frowning. Her power struggle with Giles was evident to anyone who looked and it made Buffy uneasy. She’d tried telling Giles Maggie was not trustworthy and while he had listened, acknowledged there was nothing he could do. We have to adapt, it’s part of how we survive. Since then he’d been conciliatory but cool towards Maggie and Buffy knew it was petty, but she felt like she had won the battle if not the war.

“You’ll leave tonight,” Giles says. “Take enough rations for three days to ensure we do our due diligence. Your mission is not heavy patrols in the area, it’s just to be sure there are no more uprisings.” 

“Should we do something to Acathla ? Smash him or something?” Xander’s own power struggle was with Riley but it was, Buffy knew, more a testosterone battle than anything else. “Cus I’m not really fond of living in the same world as a statue that can swallow me into hell.”

Giles smiled slightly while Maggie’s frown deepened. “This isn’t a joke, Harris.” 

“Never said it was, Walsh,” Xander shot back. “Thinking we all have the common goal of staying alive here.” 

“You’ll bring Acathla back here and we’ll perform the appropriate rituals to ensure he cannot rise again,” Giles says before Maggie can snap back at Xander. Willow and Tara nod. 

“Gather your packs and meet at the loading dock at eighteen hundred hours.” Walsh’s chair scrapes the floor as she leaves the room. The meeting breaks up and Buffy stands to follow when Giles calls her back.

“Are you ok going, Buffy?” She bristles but Giles shakes his head. “I’m not questioning your strength; I’m just trying to prevent you from further emotional ordeal.” 

Buffy nods her head and folds her arms across her chest, her heart pounding. Giles had been Angel’s single biggest supporter, before, and she suddenly realizes how profoundly she’s cut him off from her life. She opens her mouth to speak when Jenny appears in the doorway.   
 “Ruppert? Are you coming up for dinner?” Giles nods curtly then turns back to Buffy, but she’s already moving. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says and pulls the door closed behind her. 

+++  
The ride to the old church takes two hours. She sits next to Xander who since watching Angel get sucked into hell has been making more of an effort around her. Buffy knows at least part of his motivation is derived from the schoolboy crush he’s never quite outgrown but he doesn’t ask questions about how she’s feeling, doesn’t want her to talk about Angel, and that makes him a safe companion.

The van rumbles along, bouncing over bumps and causing them to grumble. Forrest looks aggravated as he guides them down long abandoned roads, from both the arduous task of driving and the complaints of the passengers. There is no small talk. The last time they had made this trip too many didn’t return and the wounds are still too raw. 

Per the plan the stop a few miles away and pull their packs onto their backs. It’s eerily quiet and despite the fact that an abandoned church is their best case scenario, it doesn’t make it any less chilling. Riley leads them and gives orders to check the woods around the church, the former human pens and the top level of the church. There’s nothing to report and no signs anyone has been there recently so they move into the lower level. 

Acathla sits where they left him and Buffy feels a chill as her mind forces her to relive Acathla ’s awakening and more painfully, his closing. Xander touches her elbow. 

“You ok?”  
 She nods and continues the sweep of the underground rooms, all turning up empty. 

“All clear,” Riley says, speaking in his normal tone for the first time since their arrival. “Let’s set up camp.” 

+++  
They set up their tents around the perimeter. They’re paired off with the intention of swapping guard shifts so that nothing can sneak past them. Xander takes the first shift but Buffy cannot sleep so she joins him, sitting beside him on a rock. 

“This sucks,” he says by way of greeting and hands her his coffee. She takes a long sip and hands it back. 

“Going to be a long few days.” 

Xander nods and she seems him look at her out of the corner of his eye. “You holding up ok?” 

“Yes.” Her tone is clipped. “You already asked me that.” 

“Maybe because I’m worried about you.” 

“I’m fine, Xander.” She turns to look at him. “I can take care of myself.” 

“Yeah, I know that. But last time you were here you watched the guy you love get sent to hell so I figured maybe it would be a little tough being back.” He stumbles over the word love and stares straight ahead into the darkness, knuckles white around his coffee. Buffy feels herself soften, knowing that of everything Xander could have chosen that was the most difficult for him. 

“I feel like I’m suffocating,” she finally says. 

“Being here?” 

“No.” Buffy shakes her head. “Yes. Everything. Being here, being at the military base again, not knowing my role anymore.” 

“You’re still the Slayer, Buff.” Xander’s tone is gentle. 

“I know.” There’s a pregnant pause and Buffy isn’t sure what else to say, if anything at all. 

“My parents aren’t as, uh, welcoming as I thought they’d be.” Buffy turns her head to Xander, who is staring into his coffee. 

“Xander, I’m sorry,” she trails off, ashamed. Xander’s parents hadn’t been attentive when they were at the base but some part of him had hoped they’d come after him when he left. They hadn’t, and Xander had rarely mentioned it. She’d been too wrapped up in her own grief to consider the implications of her return and she flushes with shame/

He shakes his head but says nothing and the silence wraps around them. 

“Isn’t it supposed to get easier, growing up?” Buffy says after a while and 

Xander laughs and says, “Is that how it works?” But there is no humor in his tone and she feels every degree of frigidity lodge itself in her bones.   
 “I should rest,” she finally says and Xander nods, lost in a thought that doesn’t include her. Buffy crawls back into her tent and wraps herself in her sleeping bag although she knows sleep isn’t going to come anytime soon.

+++  
The next two days continue in the same pattern of monotony. Patrol teams venture out beyond the church and return empty handed; there is no sign of any activity, anywhere. One of the perks of constant fresh snowfall, Riley had joked but even Buffy could tell he was as cold and bored as the rest of them.

On the last night of their mission Buffy leaves Xander to keep guard and sneaks into the church. Acathla has been removed and prepared for the journey back to the base so Buffy kneels where the demon had stood, running her fingertips over dried blood on the floor. 

“Angel,” she says and chokes back a sob. “I’m so sorry.” Buffy lets herself kneel further down, her face resting on the frozen ground as her tears run down her face. 

She’s not sure how much time passes before she stands, tugging down the corners of her jacket. “I love you,” she whispers and then repeats herself, stronger and surer of herself, before closing her eyes and leaving the church.

The caravan is gone with the ground shakes and rumbles, briefly. 

+++  
Buffy has taken up patrolling far beyond the walls of the military compound. It’s a job no one volunteers for because it’s inherently more dangerous, but she views it as an escape from the monotony of daily life. Walsh doesn’t stop her and Buffy assumes it’s because if she dies Maggie will get a new, less difficult Slayer. Giles tries but eventually backs down, sensing, she thinks, the need for the Slayer to have the opportunity to return to a more primal place. At Wes’ insistence she brings a pack with all the supplies necessary for survival, even if she does stash it as soon as she’s outside the walls. 

The military compound has more demon activity than their old base but that’s because they have no cloaking spells, nothing to hide them. Some of the vampires are like the ones at their base, starved and weak, and others are stronger and aware of the potential if only they could get beyond the walls. There are demons Buffy is familiar with and others she’s not, and she will spend hours researching when she gets back to the base. When the threat is too much she’ll alert Xander and they’ll mobilize a military unit and handle it. Giles is impressed with her efforts even if Wes is more able to see them for what they are, a distraction. 

Buffy leaves the compound at random and sometimes without notice, telling Walsh and Riley she varies her patrol to keep the demons on their toes. They accept it even if they don’t like it and Buffy takes perverse pleasure in knowing it’s one thing they cannot control. Her routes are never planned, unless there is a preexisting threat, and as promised to Giles is never out for more than six hours. 

Three nights after they return from the church Buffy leaves through the side gate, nodding to the guard. He eyes her suspiciously, as they all do, but she just smiles. She’s heading West and it doesn’t escape her that she’s subconsciously heading in the direction they’d returned from, just as she has the three nights prior. Her pace is brisk even if she isn’t headed anywhere in particular and she makes it two miles before dusting a single vamp. Fewer than normal, she thinks. 

The attack comes from her left side and she is knocked to the ground, fresh powder breaking her fall. Buffy launches to her feet and responds with a roundhouse that knocks the vampire to the ground. When she pulls back and holds her stake, a cobra ready to strike, that her heart freezes in her chest and the world tilts on its axis. 

It’s Angel, some calm part of her brain registers but before she can actually register this he’s moving again. 

There is no flicker of recognition on his face as he launches himself at her but she alters her fighting stance, acting defensively instead of offensively and dropping her stake to the ground. He lands a sloppy punch and knocks her to the ground but she rolls out from under him and takes advantage of his sloppiness (his weakness) to knock him out. He twitches once, then lies still.

Buffy doesn’t give herself time to think beyond her next move. She drags Angel, who she realizes for the first time is completely naked, to a nearby grove of pine tree and stows his body out of sight. With a backwards glance and a deep breath Buffy takes off running fast enough that her lungs tighten and her chest burns until she reaches the place she’s hidden her pack. The run takes her less than ten minutes and as she moves through the snow she tries to force herself not to think about what Angel’s sudden reappearance means. Where Angel’s been, why he doesn’t recognize her, if he’s ok, why he’s back. 

She works quickly, unsure how long Angel will remain unconscious, and dresses him in the spare clothes in her bag. At Wes’s insistence she’d grabbed them from the pile of standard issue military outerwear but hadn’t bothered to look at their size, something she’s thankful for now as she pulls them up his hips and then over his head. He’s cold and unmoving and it’s unnerving to Buffy how corpselike he is. 

Without stopping to second guess herself she pulls out a length of rope and secures Angel to the tree, using the knots Riley had taught her so long ago and insisted she master. When he’s secure, his wrists tied behind his back and his torso secured to the trunk of the tree, Buffy leans back and looks at him. There is no physical indication of where Angel’s been anywhere on his being, something Buffy can say with certainty. He’s still thin and bears bruises and cuts, but she knows they were there before –.

She can’t finish the thought. It had been clinical, before, to think he was in Hell because there was no chance she’d see him again. It was a finality and no matter how many times she said it, or thought it, her subconscious had allowed her to imagine him in nothingness instead of a demon dimension. But she can’t pretend, not anymore, because while Angel’s body may carry no trace of his time in hell his mind clearly does. She thinks of his eyes, wild with fear and hunger, and his mindless, defensive attack. 

“Angel,” she whispers and runs her finger down one cheek. “Come back to me.”

+++  
She’d left Angel because of practical reasons. If she was gone too long they’d send a search party and Buffy wasn’t sure what Walsh would do with him. When his sanity returns, she’d repeated like a mantra, never allowing for an if. 

The compound, which hasn’t felt welcoming even before Angel’s appearance, feels downright stifling now. She checks in with Wes and forces herself to sit still and answer his questions calmly and patiently, declining his offer of tea and practically running from his room.

Their library is nothing more than a glorified storage unit, a room in the underground portion of the compound that looks and feels neglected. Giles has told her stories, rather nostalgically, of a time when books lined shelves that stretched floor to ceiling, and when people were careless with the texts because they could afford to be. Buffy washes and dries her hands before stepping into the room, flicking on the switch. 

She isn’t even sure what she’s looking as she browses books, pulling a few from the shelf. Giles would be helpful, she thinks, but can’t trust him in his new position with Walsh and doesn’t trust him not to tell Jenny. Buffy reads for hours, horrified but unable to turn away at the descriptions of hell dimensions. Mentions of Acathla are brief but brutal and she feels like there’s a stone in the pit of her stomach. There are no accounts of anyone returning from any form of a hell dimension, but from what Buffy has learned, it doesn’t even seem possible. Multiple accounts indicate that the passing of time moves much more quickly and when she fully understands what this means she has to leave the room to throw up.

When she finally sleeps her dreams are riddled with her as an old woman and Angel, ageless and insane. 

+++  
Cold. Frozen toes and face and hands and are they icicles? Will they break off until there’s nothing left and will he still turn to ash?

No death not for him too good for him. A roar of rage I’m sorry I’m sorry.

Gnawing hunger, clawing at his insides and ripping him to shreds. Feed feed need to feed feed feedfeedfeedfeed

Tries to move and can’t, but struggles because if he stops fighting then he stops existing and he can’t, he won’t, even if he can’t remember why. 

Feedfightfeedfight. 

+++  
It’s quiet as she approaches the thicket of trees and when she comes into view she can see Angel still tied to the tree, head slumped against his chest. He looks weak and vulnerable and her stomach clenches. 

Angel starts thrashing as soon as he hears Buffy approach, the ropes rubbing his wrists raw. She approaches slowly and tries to make herself seem less threatening but he doesn’t calm. Untold amount of times in a hell dimension that by all accounts she could get her hands on indicate would have been filled with brutal torture, a place that she sent him, and she thinks she can convince him she’s not a threat. A laugh bubbles in her throat and dies on her lips and she watches the only man she’s ever loved fight to be free.

Blood drips from his wrists onto the fresh snow and it jerks Buffy from her reverie. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her pocketknife, pausing only a moment before slicing her arm and pressing it against Angel’s lips. His lips are ice on her skin and she shivers, first with the cold and then with pleasure, unexpected but not unwelcome. He drinks with the intensity of a starving man and she loses herself in the sensation and only, finally, pulls away when her heartbeat sound in her ears like a bass drum.

+++  
Cold so cold.

Wrists numb from pain but the pain is comfortable and familiar and all he knows all he knows.

Alone and then she’s there and familiar in a way he can’t figure out other than it’s different and warm so warm – 

And then there’s blood burning his throat and one single thought pushes itself to the front of his mind and when she pulls away it escapes through his velvety blood stained lips.

Buffy. 

+++  
Angel repeats her name and then his head falls and his chest heaves with silent sobs. Her own eyes fill with tears as she reaches behind the tree and slices through the rope binding his wrists. His head falls to her lap and he holds her so tightly that tomorrow she’ll find finger shaped bruises on her knees. He says nothing else, and although she desperately wishes for something, anything, the potential of what he might say scares her. 

Buffy stays as long as she can, letting her fingers trace his cheekbones and run through his hair. He’s cold and it seeps into her bones chasing the warmth out of her. The ticking of her watch taunts her until she can no longer deny its truth and she has to leave. 

“Angel,” she whispers once, twice, three times until he lifts his head and she extracts herself from his grip. “I have to go. No one knows you’re back and I can’t tell them, not yet.” She has no idea if he understands what she’s saying, or if he cares, but she keeps talking because she doesn’t know what else to do. “It’s complicated and I can tell you more later but for now I need to go.” 

Buffy forces herself to stand. “Angel, can you stay here? I’ll be back tomorrow but I need you to stay here.” After what feels like an eternity he nods, slowly and uncertainly, but it’s the most he’s had to offer her and she takes it. 

When she gets back to base she makes up a story about a demon attack and falls into bed and dreams of Angel. 

+++  
Angel stays curled on the cold ground, unable or unwilling to move until long after Buffy’s gone and his side goes numb. His mind is foggy and he tries to sort dreams from reality until all the images blur together and he has to physically shake his head to get Buffy out of Acathla ’s dimension. 

When did Buffy say she was coming back? He can’t remember. Somewhere outside the circle of trees the snow crunches and Angel freezes and fights the urge to run, feeling exposed and vulnerable. 

He forces himself to remain on the ground, unmoving and unblinking, until the threat is gone. Buffy’s scent still lingers and she said she was coming back, so he stays.

+++  
She leaves the compound the same time every night, exactly eight hours after her return from the previous evening, and no longer bothers to mix up her patrol route or drop her bag. She’s brought him a blanket and a pair of gloves because it’s all she’s been able to liberate and she pretends it doesn’t twist her when Angel stares at the gloves for a long moment before finally, slowly, pulling them over his hands. 

They sit mostly in silence as Buffy tries to figure out what she is supposed to do. The military compound is too dangerous but she can’t put the pieces together for them to run away. Where would they even go? The only place she knows, the old Watcher’s compound, is the first they would look for her. And to complicate things further Angel is still weak. She forces him to drink the first three times she returns until he finally gathers enough strength to refuse, pushing her arm away until she learns to stop offering. 

They talk, although she isn’t sure it can be called conversation. After her name, Angel asked her how long and was quiet for a long time when she told him that four months had passed. She’d asked, against her better judgment, and he didn’t meet her eyes when he’d answered. Time passes differently, he’d said and that had been enough. 

They lay together, as if the mere effort of remaining upright is too exhausting. Buffy wraps her arms around Angel and feels small and insignificant but he holds her tightly.

I love you, she thinks but keeps it in her own head. I love you. 

+++  
It’s hot in his dreams and he can feel his body burn. He writhes as flames lap at his body and leave burns that never heal. She always stands above him, arms crossed and eyes steely. “Weak,” she whispers and he screams.

Reality is cold. Snow that won’t melt and a sun that can’t shine. The trees protect him well enough from the elements but it’s temporary. 

Buffy promises to come back and she does, every day. Her blood is sweet until it’s replaced with disgust and he cries for hours when she finally does leave.

She tells him they’re at the military compound that scares him as much as anything on this earth can. He’s dealt with military, spent years in their captivity, and would prefer to live the rest of his days without ever seeing them again but even then he knows that if Buffy told him to come with her, he would.

He begs her to leave him but she just smiles, sadly, and tells him it’s not an option.

Weak. He’s weak. 

She insists she has a plan as she strokes his hair and wraps her body around his. He nods because he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

When she leaves, looking back until he’s just a dot on the horizon, he tells himself he should run far away. In his mind he seems himself stumbling out of the trees and running until she wouldn’t be able to find him. He will only bring her trouble; it’s the most sane thought he has.

But he stays. Weak weak weak. 

+++  
It takes over a week before anyone figures out that something is going on. Buffy has been sloppy in her patrols, sacrificing time spent on hunting demons for time spent with Angel. It’s exhausting in a way patrol never has been.

On the tenth night since she found him (that’s how she thinks of it, since she found him) Buffy sets out as she has for the last week, heart pounding as she asks that the universe has continued to protect him in his grove of trees. When she gets closer and sees the snow undisturbed she releases a breath. 

“Thank you,” she whispers to no one in particular as her body releases some of the tension she’s been holding. 

“Thank you for what?” The voice makes her jump and she turns, prepared for a fight, but it’s Xander.

“What are you doing here?” Buffy’s tone is accusatory and harsh and charged with adrenaline. 

“I could ask you the same thing, Buff.” His arms are folded across his chest and his eyebrows are arched. His tone is light but his eyes are dark with concern or anger or both.

“Did you follow me?” 

He looks for a moment like he might argue her deflection. “Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Do you know how many vampires and other assorted demons we’ve fought off at the gate this past week?” 

“How is that –“ she starts to ask but he cuts her off. 

“Do you? Because the numbers we’ve been dealing with look more like they did before you started patrolling out here.” 

Buffy crosses her arms. “Are you accusing me of something?” 

“I’ve been making excuses for you for days, Buffy. But I can’t anymore because somehow Walsh got wind of the uptick in hostile activity and she’s one day away from coming out here herself.” 

Buffy steels herself against the anger in his tone but says nothing, her heart pounding in her chest, forcing herself not to look back at the trees. “What’s going on, Buffy?” Xander’s tone loses some of its edge and Buffy exhales, slowly. 

“Nothing. I’ve just been distracted,” she starts to say but her words are cut off by a growl behind her. Xander tenses and removes a stake as Buffy reaches for him. 

“Stop.” Xander looks at her but doesn’t lower his arm. 

“What’s going on?” For a brief moment Buffy had wanted Xander to find Angel, to share her burden, but now that his discovery seems inevitable Buffy can feel ice in her veins. 

“Xander wait,” she says but he shakes his head. 

“No, Buffy. Now. What’s going on?” 

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to make eye contact. “It’s Angel. He’s back.” 

“What?”

“I found him a week ago, on patrol.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Xander’s eyes bore into hers. 

“Because I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know why he’s back or what I’m doing and it terrifies me to think of Walsh getting her hands on him.” 

“You’re too paranoid,” he finally says. They stare at each other for a long moment before Xander lowers his stake. “Let me see him.” 

Buffy shakes her head. “Why, Xander? So you can kill him now and convince me it was for the greater good later?” 

Xander look at her, wordlessly, until Buffy turns to the trees and lets him follow her.

Angel’s eyes darken when he sees that Buffy is not alone and he presses himself against the tree, a low growl in his throat. 

“It’s ok. Do you remember Xander?” Buffy’s words sound far away even to her own ears and for a moment, she’s watching the scene from above. A Slayer standing in the middle of a weak vampire and an angry soldier, trying to convince both that the other is not a threat.

“This is insane,” Xander says but it’s mostly to himself and Buffy pretends not to hear. Angel says nothing and for a moment there’s only a heavy silence.

“Xander?” Buffy finally says, then stops.

“We can’t do this alone, Buffy.” Xander looks up for a moment. “We have to tell Giles.” 

+++  
It’s four hours later and Buffy is sitting at Willow’s table. She’d argued with Xander but it was half hearted and over quickly. Xander had patrolled while Buffy sat with Angel and explained what was going on. She’d assured him that it would be fine and he pretended to believe her.

“You found him?” Giles looks down at his notes after Buffy finishes telling them about Angel. She nods. “Do you know how he got there?” 

The thought had never crossed Buffy’s mind. “No.”

“We can’t bring him back here,” Tara said. “It’s too much of a risk.” 

“So you keep him in the woods?” Xander is standing, his back against the wall. 

“I don’t know!” Buffy lets her head drop to the table, feeling the exhaustion catch up to her. “I don’t know.” 

Willow rubs her. “We need a plan,” she says. “What do we do?” 

“There has to be an unused portion of the compound. Let me look into it,” Giles says. “In the meantime, Xander please join Buffy in her patrols. We can’t have Walsh getting a hold of this.” 

+++  
When Angel was mortal sleep had brought a break from the alcohol, a time to let his body shut down and flush out the toxins before waking to dump more into his system. Blackouts didn’t allow for dreams and if they had Angel would have had visions of barmaids and whiskey. Angelus had no conscience and didn’t dream and instead simply shut down. After his soul had been returned nightmares had plagued him and in the mines when he closed his eyes he’d slipped into blackness born of physical labor. Now his dreams replace reality and return him to hell. 

Buffy’s voice, or her soft hands, or her footsteps return him to his grove of trees but when he jerks awake now it’s to the sound of angry voices. Angel scrambles back until his back hits the tree and freezes but he has nowhere to hide when a flashlight shines in his face. Tasers spring to life and a scream bubbles up his throat and the last thing he hears before the darkness takes him is a woman’s voice, cold and in control. 

“Take him.”

+++  
Buffy sees the broken snow and runs even though she knows it’s too late. When she bursts into Walsh’s office she’s out of breath and wild eyed.

“Buffy, sit down.” Walsh smiles and gestures to the chair. “What can I help you with?” 

“You bitch,” she snarls. “Where is he?”

“There’s no need for profanity, Buffy.” Her calmness is infuriating. 

“If you hurt him I swear-“ 

“You’ll what, Buffy? Hurt me?” Walsh smiles self-indulgently. “I don’t know how that will help the vampire.” 

There’s a pause. “You have him.” 

“Of course I have him. Your activities as of late have not gone unnoticed and I will not be made a fool of. You are a Slayer and you are harboring a vampire. Didn’t you think my curiosity would get the best of me?” 

Riley and Forrest enter the office, drawn by the commotion, but Buffy doesn’t register their presence. “He’s different,” she starts and forces her voice to remain calm. “He has a soul.” 

Walsh arches her eyebrows. “Oh? Well that’s a first.” 

Buffy waits for more but nothing comes so she tries again, desperate to get Angel away from her. “Whatever you’re planning for him, you need to reconsider it. He has a human soul, he’s not his demon.” 

“No, but he is in possession of a demon. And that makes him infinitely more interesting, don’t you think?” Walsh has not stopped smiling and Buffy feels her anger reach a boiling point.

“How dare you?” She takes a step towards Walsh and hears the rustle as Riley and Forrest step up behind her, as if though they could protect Walsh from the rage of a Slayer. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. I’ve been compliant, and followed your rules, and been the obedient little Slayer but that ends now.” 

Walsh finally stops smiling and folds her arms over her chest. “Are you done with your tantrum, Buffy? Because this is when I tell you how things will proceed. If you care for the welfare of this vampire you will do as I say. I hold the power, not you, and if you forget that it will be your little pet that pays the price. “ 

Buffy’s nostrils flare. “You calculating bitch.”

“You can insult me all you’d like, Buffy. Just be sure you’re clear as to where we stand.”

“What do you want from me? From Angel?” 

Walsh nods, like she’s checked some box off of a list. Keep Buffy under my thumb – check. “I want to run tests on this vampire, learn what makes him tick and more importantly, learn about this soul of his. The more we know about our enemy the easier they are to kill, you know.” Buffy bites her tongue so hard she can taste blood. “And from you I expect compliance. You will work with my team, and you will play nice.” 

“And how long do I have to play this game?” 

Walsh smiles again and it stretches her mouth perversely. “That’s the beauty. You will play until I tell you you’re done.” 

+++  
The first thing Angel notices when he regains consciousness is that he is warm for the first time in recent memory. He flexes his fingers, then his wrists and finally his arms and determines he’s not physically restrained and then slowly opens his eyes. He’s been in enough prisons in his time to recognize he’s in one now, even if it is cleaner than any in recent memory. 

He pushes himself into a sitting position against the wall and ignores his aching body. The memory of voices, of his capture, flood back to him and he closes his eyes against the onslaught of pain. Where is Buffy?

“You’re awake, good.” Angel jerks and the woman’s voice, loud and sharp. “I’m Dr. Walsh and for the time being, you are my possession.”

“What do you want from me?” His voice sounds pathetic to his ears but he doesn’t care.

“I want to understand vampires so that I can better manage them.” Angel reads between the lines and closes his eyes, willing her to let him rest. “And what’s even more exciting is that the Slayer tells me you have a soul.” 

“Buffy,” he croaks. 

“Yes, Buffy,” she says and smiles. “How interesting that Slayer should care for a vampire.” 

“Don’t hurt her,” he growls and stands, his legs leaden. 

“And that a vampire should care for a Slayer!” she laughs, unconcerned with his movement. 

“If you hurt her –“

Walsh interrupts his threat with a laugh. “You’ll what?” She barrels on before he can answer, no longer laughing. “You will cooperate or Buffy will deal with the consequences. She is reckless and impulsive and if she does not keep those in check then they will get her killed.” 

Angel is still reeling from his rebirth into this dimension but he remembers his conversations with Buffy in the woods and puts the pieces together. “You’re looking for an excuse to kill her.” 

“I have no desire to kill Buffy. I simply wish to maintain order. And if she threatens that order she will be dealt with.” Walsh tilts her head. “Think carefully, vampire. Because you wouldn’t want to add her death to your list of sins.” 

+++  
Angel is crumpled against the wall of his cell the first time Buffy visits him.

“Angel?” she whispers from the other side of the glass barrier.

He forces himself upright and ignores the pain in his side. They’d pulled him from the cell that morning and brought him to a stark white room down a maze of corridors. He’d been strapped to a table, arms and legs spread, and stripped down until he was naked. Walsh had ignored him completely and spoke to people in the room as if though she had been leading a class. 

“Vampires are little more than reanimated corpses,” she’d begun and reached for a scalpel. “We know that they have a demon that propels them but what we don’t know is how their bodies don’t decay, or what the condition of their internal organs are.” She’d pressed the scalpel against his stomach and he’d steeled himself as she drew blood. “Today, we are going to find out.” 

“Angel?” Buffy repeats, worried this time. 

“Buffy,” he says and forces himself not to wince at the pain. His torso is a patchwork of cuts and his insides feel like they’re on fire. “Hi.” 

“Are you ok?” she asks and he can see her look him up and down so he forces himself to sit straighter. Walsh’s words ring in his ears as he makes eye contact and relaxes his features. 

“I’m ok,” he says. “Are you?” 

“I’m fine!” Buffy’s voice is a pitch too high and she clears her throat. “I’m fine. What is Walsh doing to you?” 

“Nothing,” he says automatically.

“Don’t lie to me, Angel.” Buffy narrows her eyes. 

“She’s running…tests,” he finally says. “I’m fine.” 

“She’s torturing you.” He keeps his expression blank. “This is bullshit,” Buffy says and begins to pace. “She can’t do this.” 

Angel is exhausted just watching her move. He’s received no rations since his arrival at the compound and he can feel the demon growing more urgent, more insistent. The wall separates him from Buffy, from touching her and feeling humanity and just falling asleep. 

“This won’t go on. I won’t let it.” Angel forces himself to focus on what Buffy is saying. 

“Buffy,” he says softly and she looks at him. “I’ll be fine.” 

Something softens in her face and he wonders if she’s thinking of his time in the mines, or Hell, or the alleys of New York City because when she speaks she sounds sad. “I know that. But you shouldn’t have to.” 

Angel reaches his hand out to the barrier and she places hers against his, her small hand hidden by his large one. “I miss you,” he finally says because it’s the truth.

“We’ll get through this Angel. We have to.” 

He leans against the wall and slides down, resting his head on the barrier. Buffy tells him about Giles, and how Walsh has iced him out of daily operations. She talks about the love triangle between Oz and Willow and Tara, and how the humans from the farms are adjusting to life in the compound. Angel listens as best as he can, tries to force himself to focus on her words but exhaustion pulls at his consciousness. 

At some point he realizes Buffy is no longer talking and he blinks. “Sorry,” he says because it seems like what he should say but she just shakes her head. Her expression is carefully controlled but Angel thinks he can detect sadness, and regret. 

“Sleep, Angel, sleep.” Her fingers graze the barrier between them and then fall back to her lap. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

+++  
The rafters supporting the punching bag creak as Buffy unleashes her excess energy, feeling her anger build instead of release as she lands blow after blow on the ancient bag. It’s late, long after she should be sleeping, but the thought of remaining static makes her skin crawl. It’s been one week since Walsh took Angel and in that time there’s been a tangible shift in power in the compound. Buffy is no longer allowed outside the confines of their space and patrol has yielded one vampire she suspects Riley let through the gate just to give her something to do. Giles’ already tenuous grasp of power has slipped, leaving him little more than a pawn. Willow and Tara are working on a spell for Walsh that takes their daytime hours and leaves them drained come evening. Xander has been promoted within his unit although Buffy suspects it’s largely because Walsh is trying to buy his loyalty with reward. 

Her days are spent training with the military unit. Walsh orders her to fight against various demons and vampires they've captured and takes notes as she defeats each one. A few other soldiers look at her with awe but it’s mostly thinly veiled contempt. She’s stronger and more resilient and a threat to everything that makes them powerful.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what the punching bag did to you.” Giles’ voice is gentle and Buffy catches the bag mid swing. 

“What are you doing up so late?” She asks in way of a greeting. 

“I could ask you the same.” He arches his eyebrow and she nods.   
 “Touche.”

There’s a moment of silence. “How’s Angel,” Giles finally asks.

“Whatever Walsh is doing to him, he won’t tell.” She thinks of her own training sessions that never leave bruises where any can see them. “It isn’t good though.” 

“How does his mental state seem?”

“Exhausted. Most mornings we only talk for a few minutes before he falls asleep.” Buffy lets her knuckles graze the bag again. “I’m worried about him Giles.” 

“Angel has survived worse.”

“He just got back from Hell which by the way? My fault. And now he’s dealing with whatever bullshit torture Walsh is throwing at him and oh yeah. Also my fault.” Buffy knocks the bag harder, watching it swing. 

“I think you’re placing too much of the burden on your shoulders, Buffy.” He holds up a hand to cut her off. “But I’m not going to waste my breath going down that route. We need to figure out her end game or we’re just the blind leading the blind.” 

Buffy frowns. “And how do we do that?” 

“Right now we’re barely treading water. We need to regroup.” 

“How, Giles?” She can feel her frustration, suppressed for survival, bubble to the surface. “She micromanages every moment of the day!” 

“No, Buffy!” His intensity startles her into silence. “You cannot think in the short term. Walsh has a goal and so must we. There is no time for self pity, or to exhaust our resources on others. Angel, though certainly not in a position I envy, will survive. You will survive. We will all survive. And we will figure this out.” 

“Ok, she says slowly. “Not here, I assume?” 

Giles looks around the room and lowers his voice even though they are alone. “No, not here. But we must bide our time.”

+++  
They begin passing notes. It reminds Buffy of a different lifetime, when her father was away on patrol and her mother was alive and she got caught passing a note to Amy Madison during instructional time. “Buffy,” her mom had lectured her over dinner. “School is important! You have to pay attention!” It would be nostalgic if the notes they pass now were about which boys they liked instead of their survival. 

Over the past few weeks they’ve exchanged countless notes and although they haven’t accomplished much in terms of a plan they’ve at least been able to determine that they’re all ok, even if they're stretched to the breaking point. 

It’s a simple system. Each of them has a drop spot that notes can be slipped, but never if there is any suspicion of getting caught. Buffy’s is in the bottom of the punching bag, tucked in a small seam where the bag is beginning to tear. Giles’ is in an underused copy of the dictionary, tucked in the page right below the definition of subterfuge. Willow and Tara share a drop box, an envelope taped to their door that thanks to a cloaking spell, simply looks like a picture to a passerby. Xander’s is in the battery compartment of his taser. There are more, written on a list and carefully stowed in her freezer, but instead of finding it tedious Buffy relishes in the exhilaration. 

She’s just finished slipping a note about their next meeting time into Wes’ box, a container of tea in the communal area that only he drinks and in which they’ve created a false bottom, when she hears her name.

“Summers. Come with me.” It’s Forrest, one of her old classmates and one of her most ardent current captors. He’s intoxicated with the power he holds and she can feel her skin crawl when they’re in close proximity. Buffy doesn’t doubt that he would kill her with the slightest provocation. 

“Where?” 

“Not relevant. The orders are that you come with me.” Buffy clenches her fists and grounds herself in the sharp pricks of her nails in her palm and follows Forrrest. 

He takes her to a lab she's never been in and directs her to a chair. Walsh walks in the room browsing the contents of a clipboard. “I’m going to be drawing your blood today.” 

Buffy bristles and folds her arms over her chest. “What?”

Walsh looks up at her. “Standard blood draw, Buffy.”

Every fiber in her body tells her this is something to be alarmed as she forces herself to appear calm. “You have my medical records and you know I’m not sick. I don’t really see the point.” 

Walsh smiles and Buffy thinks this smile must be reserved just for her because without words she's being reminded of her position, and of what’s at stake. “The point is that I require your blood.” 

“And if I refuse?” Buffy knows more about blood than most. She knows it’s what sets her apart and makes her the Slayer, and knows from Angel that it is more powerful and more potent than the blood of anyone else. Walsh’s desire to take it from her feels like more of a violation than any thing she’s been subjected to so far. 

“I have some information about the effect of holy water on vampires, and it seems fairly standard.” Walsh flips to a page in her clipboard and pretends to find something interesting there, pausing for effect. “But there’s not a lot of information on how what happens if a vampire has prolonged exposure to holy water and I haven’t decided how much this is relevant. I mean, other than in a controlled setting, when else will a vampire be submerged in a large quantity for a long period of time?” 

Buffy feels her stomach turn as she imagines Angel, screaming as he’s lowered into tub of holy water, but Walsh continues talking. “I mean, can you imagine the impact that would have on the vocal cords? Their ability to feed? And the internal organs, of course. How badly do you think they would burn?” 

“Fine.” Buffy’s voice shakes with fury. 

Walsh nods, still smiling. “I thought you would see it our way.” 

+++  
Angel is slumped against the wall when she arrives, his head resting on his knees. Buffy is only able to come in the earliest hours of the morning and although Angel would tell her otherwise she knows it’s the only time of day that he’s allowed to rest. 

She lowers herself against the barrier between them and studies him for a long moment. He’s gotten gaunter in the past few weeks and the hollows of his cheeks cast dark shadows on his face. Despite her asking, and sometimes pleading, Angel won’t tell her what Walsh does to him or how many rations he’s getting. Any physical marks Walsh leaves are carefully hidden behind his clothing and he rarely moves when she’s there so she can’t gauge his physical pain. Buffy’s heart aches and her stomach twists because he’s in pain because of her and he denies it to protect her. 

“Hey,” she says softly after a few moments and Angel lifts his head slowly. It takes a few moments for his eyes to focus on her, but when they do his features soften. 

“Buffy.” He always greets her by name and it always sounds like a prayer. 

“How are you?” 

“Fine.” It’s their standard parry, but she hasn’t been able to shake the image of Angel doused in holy water and she can hear his screams reverberate in her mind.

“Don’t lie to me. Not today.” 

He makes eye contact with searches her face and when he drops his gaze she wonders if he found what he was looking for. “I’m tired. And hungry.”

“I can tell that just by looking at you, Angel. I mean - are you ok? What is she doing to you?” Angel looks up because this is a departure from the normal tone of their meetings. 

“What happened?” 

“She told me she would submerge you in holy water if I didn't -“ Buffy cuts herself off, hoping that Angel is out of it enough that he won’t catch her slip, but his eyes narrow. 

“Didn’t what, Buffy? What did she make you do?” She drops her gaze and says nothing. 

“Buffy!” Angel’s voice is urgent and when she looks up his expression is scared. “Don’t let her use me. I can handle it.” 

“She wanted to see what would happen to your internal organs.” Buffy almost chokes on the words and she thinks she sees Angel flinch. 

“I can handle it.” His voice is fainter, but still steady. “I was in Hell. For a long time. This is…this is child’s play.” Angel is looking past her and she thinks he’s convincing himself as much as her. “I can withstand pain but I cannot withstand you being hurt.” 

“This isn’t fair,” she whispers finally and spreads her fingers on the cool barrier. “I’m so sorry, Angel. I’m so sorry.” 

Angel rests his forehead opposite her hand and closes his eyes and she wishes she could touch him so badly her stomach aches. “No, Buffy, no.” 

She waits for more, but nothing comes. They sit in silence until Buffy knows she has to report for training duty and then she carefully leans forward and kisses the barrier, where Angel has fallen asleep.

+++  
Angel does not know how long he’s been here. For the first little while he kept track in his head by counting Buffy’s visits but then the effects of too much physical exertion and not enough sustenance made the days blur together. 

He’s pulled from his cell frequently and although he isn't certain the exact amount of time between each time he knows it’s never enough to rest. His time is split between the lab, where Walsh subjects him to a form of torture disguised as experimentation, and the large barren space where he’s forced to fight. The time in the lab is painful but requires nothing of him. The time in the fighting room requires his alertness and participation, which becomes more difficult as the weeks pass. 

He’d fallen asleep during Buffy’s visit, which was normal and something he longer had the capacity to feel badly about, and wakes up shortly after to the sound of keys in the lock. Riley Finn enters and Angel presses himself against the wall in fear, a reaction that disgusts him but Finn only comes when Walsh has a special project. The last time Angel had been bound to a cross and a Catholic priest, an old man who had spat on Angel, had attempted an exorcism. 

Riley says nothing as Angel forces himself to his feet and extends his wrists. His side aches from the claws of a Feralyo demon and Finn’s blood is intoxicating but Angel forces himself to keep his head down and his expression neutral. The handcuffs are cold but Riley’s skin is warm and Angel jumps when they lock. Riley makes a noise in this throat but says nothing.

He’s led down the same maze of corridors that he could have memorized if he thought there would be a point. They stop in front of the door to the combat room and Angel can feel himself begin to panic because he isn't healed enough for a fight. His feet slow, like they’re encased in concrete, and Finn pulls at his elbow. 

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t make eye contact, he never makes eye contact, and Angel can hear the impatience in his voice. 

“I can’t,” he whispers and looks past Riley and at the door behind him. “I can’t.” 

“You don’t have a choice.” 

“I won’t survive.” It’s the truth but for the first time in his existence the possibility scares him. Before it’s always been an inevitably and if it didn’t come at his own hand would be a release from whatever hell he was in. But now it’s not just him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Finn asks like he wants a reply but Angel doesn’t have one. “I’m just following orders.” 

“Of course you are.” It’s a losing battle but Riley starts at this and furrows his brow, his eyes meeting Angel’s.

“What? You think you have some moral high ground? I’ve read your file, I know who you are.” His eyes narrow. “What you are. And just because Buffy thinks you’re more than a monster doesn’t mean I do.”

“It will kill her,” Angel holds Riley’s stare. “My death will unhinge her and Walsh will kill her.” His words have the desired effect and Riley pauses. 

“I’ll take care of her,” he says and then shoves Angel through the door. 

The lights are bright and Angel squints. 

“Finn, thank you. I was getting worried.” Her tone is pointed and she tilts her chin slightly. 

“Sorry ma’am. The vampire is still recovering and moving slowly.” Finn stands ramrod straight and Angel keeps his eyes trained on the floor. She gestures and Riley steps aside leaving Angel shackled in the center of the room. 

“The world we live in is too fractured,” she begins, theatrically. Her troops listen with reverence and Angel thinks if he was mortal, he’d be sick. “Misguided men with weapons they didn’t understand brought the world to its knees leaving us to clean up the pieces. We've tried living apart, in separate groups, and that’s gotten us nowhere. Just look at what the Slayer’s camp has done to us!”

There’s a cheer in the room and Angel looks around at the faces of young men and women awash in her words. He’s seen this before, the blind faith in a leader born only of lofty goals and a loud voice, and it terrifies him. Her troops have been raised in her vision and the payoff is hefty; looking at the faces there isn’t a single one that wouldn't kill on command for her.

“You all know we’ve been working on something bigger, something that will unite us all, and I stand before you now, proud, and telling you that it has all paid off!” Another roar and Walsh smiles, falsely modest, and raises her hand to quiet them. “Finn?”

Riley nods and disappears through the door all the demons Angel fights emerge from. He feels himself tense, then freeze, when Riley returns. The demon he’s with is unlike any Angel has ever seen, or on second look, any he’s ever seen on one body. 

“Genius, yes?” Walsh is saying amidst the cheers. “We’ve studied the Slayer, and a vampire that has survived the mines and hell and we’ve completed our project! Behold - Adam!” More cheers and Angel feels the room spin. The demon stands seven feet tall and wider than any man he’s ever seen, chest bulging with sinewy muscle. Its back is covered in scales that Angel knows from experience will slice skin to the bone and at the end of thick arms are spears that seem to be part of bone. Its bottom half is covered under cargo pants, tight against thick legs, and his face is contorted into what Angel imagines is meant to be a smile. 

“The key all along? Blood! It’s always blood!” Walsh is saying but Angel is no longer listening. Riley approaches and gives him a long look before undoing his shackles, bowing his head as he walks away. There is no time for pride and Angel runs as fast as he can to the door that will lead to the hallway but it’s locked. He spins, frantically looking for an escape but there is nowhere. Across the room Walsh nods and Adam crosses the space between them in giant strides before picking Angel up by the throat and throwing him into the wall. 

Angel scrambles to his feet, ignoring the pain, and darts around Adam. “Coward!” Walsh shouts and he looks at her, long enough to give Adam an opening which he uses to punch Angel across the face and send him sprawling. The world blinks and Angel kicks upward instinctively, landing his foot in Adam’s crotch. There is no reaction from Adam, who returns the kick with one of his own. Angel slides across the floor as Walsh laughs and her troops cheer. 

“The Scourge of Europe, brought to his knees!” She roars and Angel forces himself to his feet, Buffy’s face in his mind. He launches himself at Adam but the demon returns with a thrust of his spear which slices through Angel’s midsection. He blacks out for a second and when he comes through Finn is standing over him with a taser. 

“Get up,” he bites and Angel closes his eyes again. “Get up and fight or she will kill you.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

“Buffy. Fight for Buffy.” Riley’s eyes are cold and his expression is stone but Angel forces himself up, ignoring the pain. “I’ll do what I can,” he says and then walks away, leaving Angel to face Adam.

They continue for longer than Angel would have thought he could last. Adam is tireless and seemingly invincible and he nearly delivers the killing blow a dozen times, stopping only as Walsh calls him off. Finn stands beside her, frowning in contrast to her expression of delight. 

After a dozen times Angel cannot force himself up, even in the face of Finn’s buzzing taser. “I can’t,” he rasps, voice thick behind a split lip. He can barely see the soldier through his swollen face and closes his eyes. “Tell Buffy….I love her….” 

“We have an army!” Walsh roars as he fades into darkness.

+++  
Buffy finishes leaving a note for Doyle, taped to the bottom of his whiskey bottle, when Riley finds her. 

“Buffy.” Their relationship has been strained since they'd arrived at the base and Buffy stares at him, distrusting. Had he seen her drop the note, she wonders? She holds her shoulders steady. 

“What?”  
 “It’s Angel.”   
+++

She runs to his cell, Riley’s words drumming into her head. Angel’s hurt Angel’s hurt Angel’s hurthurthurt. When she throws open the door to his cell she freezes, her hand flying to her face and the taste of vomit in her mouth. 

Angel lies in the middle of his cell in blood-soaked clothing. His face is swollen almost beyond recognition and his midsection is covered in blood. His right arm is twisted at an unnatural angle and his skin is deathly pale.

“Angel,” she whispers and crawls to the cage. Her fingers tear uselessly at the barrier and she screams, frustration and anger propelling the air out of her lungs. From his position on the floor Angel moves and then moans in pain. “Angel, no, no no.” 

He cracks an eye open and tries to smile but it contorts his face. “Buf…” he starts to say but she shakes her head. 

“No, don’t talk. Don’t talk. I’m so sorry, so sorry, this is all my fault.” She’s babbling but can’t stop the rush of words. “I’m so sorry.” 

Angel crawls to the barrier and lays on the floor. “No,” he whispers and she feels the tears leak out of her eyes. “No.” 

“What did she do to you?”

“New monster. Strong.” He coughs and it sounds like his lung is punctured. “Blood is the key.”

Buffy freezes. “My blood,” she whispers to herself but Angel hears her and frowns. 

“Blood?” 

Buffy’s secrets have been kept to protect Angel but Walsh feels she no longer has to honor her end of the bargain and so Buffy decides that there is nothing left to protect. She tells Angel everything, from her fights with demons to the forced blood draws, unable to meet his eyes. When she’s done he stares at her. 

“No one…” he starts and then coughs again. “Ever done so much…for me.” 

She sits until he falls asleep, a restless slumber that she doesn’t think will bring him rest. It’s not until her neck that she finally retreats to her room.

+++  
“It’s bad, Giles.” Buffy drinks her coffee, black and hot and the only thing her body will tolerate. Walsh’s exuberance over her latest conquest has led to a scheduling oversight and for the first time in weeks they’re all together. The last time they’d crowded around Giles’ table it had been shortly after their arrival at the compound, before Angel had been back, and they'd dined on false promises. But now when their world is crumbling even the coffee tastes bitter. 

“I suppose this was her end game,” Wes says. The weeks have taken their toll and it shows more profoundly on Wes, who was rail thin to begin with, than it does on the others. His stubble has progressed to a beard and his eyes are bloodshot. 

“What? A super demon?” Xander’s false promotion and the rejection of his family have hardened his edges. 

“You haven't heard anything about this?” Giles asks. 

“Walsh keeps me at an arm’s distance,” Xander snaps. 

“I wasn't accusing you, Xander.” There’s a tense silence. 

“Ok, so she has a super demon. One that could kick Angel’s ass.” Willow flashes Buffy an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“It’s more than that.” Buffy sighs. “Walsh has been torturing Angel for over a month but this is the first time she’s let it show.” 

Tara furrows her brow and Doyle leans across the table. “Come again princess?” 

“She’s been playing us against each other.” Buffy leans back and folds her arm across her chest. “Tells me if I don’t comply she’ll hurt Angel. Telling him the same thing.” 

“What has she made you do, Buffy?” Willow’s soft, forgiving voice Buffy’s undoing. 

“My blood. She’s taken my blood and I think she used it to build this super demon. Made me fight against vampires, demons, whatever they can find.” She stares into her coffee cup. “Told me she would submerge Angel in holy water if I didn’t listen. This is my fault because I let her play me.” 

There’s a pregnant silence. 

“Your blood. She used your blood and that’s how she powered the demon.” Giles sounds stunned and Buffy feels a flush of shame. 

“She’s a genius,” Oz mutters. “An evil genius, but a genius.”

“And she’s building an army,” Tara says. “She’s had us looking up duplicating spells. We assumed they were for defense but….” She trails off.

“There is no more time. If we stay here, we are dead.” Giles stands up and begins to pace. “We will need to work quickly but quietly. Continue to do what Walsh asks, change nothing.” He looks pointedly at Buffy. “This includes you.” 

“So what? Keep letting her fuel these things?” Xander arches and eyebrow. “Yeah, I see that as being super helpful.” 

“We have no choice!” He lowers his voice. “We’re in too deep and now, more than ever, we need to keep our heads down.” 

“So what now?” Willow sounds as anxious as Buffy feels. 

“Now, we wait.” 

+++  
Angel is unconscious most of the time when Buffy visits and she stays as long as she is able, but he doesn’t stir. Part of her is glad because at least this way he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. 

Walsh demands daily blood draws which are almost more than she can stand and leave her dizzy but Giles is firm in his orders: comply, or certain death. Before, when she thought she was just another specimen in the lab, the draws were annoying. But now she knows that she is complicit in the creation of an army designed to destroy them and it tears her apart. The technician frowns at her tightened fist and corded muscle and tells her to relax. 

The punching bag has been reattached to the rafters twice since Angel fought the super demon but no one finds it odd enough to comment. In achieving her goal Walsh has forgotten about her and Buffy spends her spare time in the gym, forcing her already weakened body into exhaustion. 

She’s doing pushups, lost in fiery pain in her upper arms, when Riley seeks her out.

“Keep it up and you’re going to burn out,” he says by way of greeting and she takes a fortifying breath before standing up. 

“What do you want?” 

“I want to help you.” He sounds sincere enough but Buffy has lost her tolerance for belated gestures of goodwill.

“Go to hell,” she says instead and turns to the pull-up bar. 

“You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re Walsh’s golden boy and if she tells you to jump you’ll ask how high.” Her hands grip the bar and she lifts her chin over it, letting her anger power her body. 

“That’s out of line.” Riley’s voice is emotionless and she guesses it’s masking a layer of hurt. It surprises her how little she cares. 

“Ok, so write me up.” 

“Why are you so angry, Buffy?” 

At this she drops to the floor and spins to face him. “How can you ask me that? Everything that was good has been ruined by this place! You told me it would be good if we joined forces, if we worked together and this is the result? Living in fear? Watching as my friends fall apart because of the pressure they’re under? Watching the man I love be killed slowly while I can do nothing about it? Being forced to give my blood, willingly, to power a super army?” Buffy is shaking by the time she’s done speaking but cannot stop. “And now you’re here, telling me you want to help. Unless you have some grand plan -“ 

“I know you’re planning to leave,” he says and she freezes. “A cloaking spell, some sort of diversion, finding a new base? Is this sounding about right?”

Buffy wants to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words don’t come. Instead, she asks, “how did you know?”

“Because it’s what I would do.” Now Riley looks angry. “Because this isn’t what I signed up for, Buffy. I wanted our camps to join because I thought maybe, just maybe, I had a shot at being with you. I didn’t know about the vampire, or this super demon, or whatever the hell Walsh is planning.” 

“And what? This grand declaration of love is supposed to make me swoon?” 

“Damn it Buffy, listen to me!” His fists are clenched and she’s never heard him this angry. “Walsh isn’t paying attention to you, not right now. But she will, and soon. And if she catches wind of what you're doing she will kill you.” 

“She can’t.” 

“She can. No one is watching her, not anymore. She's unstoppable. Buffy, this demon…” he trails off. 

“Why do you want to help now?” 

“Because you’re going to fight Adam, and you're going to die.” 

The image of Angel, broken and unconscious days after his battle, flash in her mind and she feels nauseous. 

“When? Why?” 

“She just decided this morning. You have maybe two days.” Riley waits until she’s looking at him. “She wants you dead, Buffy.”

“I need to talk to Giles,” she says.

“There’s no time. Either take my help or don’t, but you need to tell me now.” She stares at Riley as her mind races, trying to figure out if Walsh had put him here, or how she would know, of if they can do this without him. He’s loyal, at times to a fault, but she doesn’t know where his breaking point is because she’s never pushed him that hard. Is he really that concerned about a super army? Would he come with them? Does he see shades of grey? She wants to talk to Giles and Wes and Xander and everyone else but she can’t because she doesn’t doubt that Riley means what he says - this is all he has to offer. If he walks he’ll be back to Walsh, if he ever even left. 

“Ok.” She says after a long pause. “But you need to do something for me.” 

+++  
The door to his cell opens but Angel barely has the energy to lift his head before it’s slammed shut again. He drains the bag of blood that lands by his head and it’s not enough to heal but it’s enough to push the demon back, even if it is just a little bit. 

+++  
The rations continue to be dropped into his cell and by the end of the third day he can feel his body begin to heal. The overwhelming hunger recedes enough to let him thank the soldier who drops the bag, startling them both. 

No one comes for Angel. It’s a change that means less pain but instead of feeling relief he’s nervous because he’s rarely found that change precedes anything good. When Buffy arrives he feels like he could claw his way out of his skin, desperate for information or just communication. 

“Buffy.” 

“Angel.” Their standard greeting. One word conveys a mood or carries a warning and tonight Angel is desperate and Buffy is anxious. She crouches so she’s on the balls of her feet and bounces, slightly, as if though she’s physically unable to remain still. 

“You look better,” she says. “The rations, they’re helping?” 

“You knew?” 

She nods. “I arranged them.” 

Angel’s mind whirls as he tries to imagine the compound outside the cell and what they’re planning. He’s terrified for her safety because now more than ever he understands what Walsh wants to do and exactly how Buffy is a threat to her goals. “How?” he finally asks. 

“Long story and I can’t explain right now.” Her eyes dart as if she’s looking for evidence that someone is listening. “I promise I’ll explain later.” 

His turn to nod, even if he wants to bang down the cell until she fills him in. “Are you ok?” 

Buffy stops bouncing and looks directly into his eyes, her expression determined. “I am good. Very good.” 

Another nod. They sit in silence because if he can’t ask the big questions, he has nothing left to say. The demon is not accustomed to taking orders and rages against his complacency but Angel forces himself to recognize that he has no recourse and decides to trust her instincts. 

Without warning she stands and Angel’s immediate reaction is panic. “I have to go,” she says and her expression tells him she’s already somewhere else. 

“Buffy,” he can’t help but saying but then stops. He wants her to stay with him but he can’t ask because what would be the point? “Be careful,” he says instead and she nods slowly as if she’s processing what he’s saying. 

“You too.” Then she’s gone. 

+++  
Her visits are the only break to the monotony in his day and he gulps her in when she comes to him. Buffy is far away when she sits next to him and they don’t speak because there’s nothing left to say. Instead he rests his head against the barrier and pretends he can feel her warmth soaking into him and tries not to think about what his life will be like if he can never be with her again. 

“Do you trust me?” she asks him and he answers without hesitation. 

“Yes.” 

She looks at him and for a moment he can see fear and regret and sadness but then they’re gone, replaced with the same determined expression she’s worn since he fought Adam. 

“Remember that.” 

+++  
The cell door opens and Angel turns to accept his rations and then freezes when he sees it’s Finn. 

“What do you want?” he hisses and moves away until his back touches the wall. Finn removes his taser from his waistband and steps closer.

“You need to come with me,” he says and Angel hears the electricity as is jumps between the prongs. 

“No,” he says. 

“You have two options vampire. Come with me willingly or come with me as a pile of ash.” 

“You want to kill me? I won’t make it easy.” Angel straightens his shoulders and clenches his fists. 

“Yeah? Let’s go then.” 

Riley closes the space between them and lands a punch on Angel’s chin, whipping his head back. Angel returns the attack but Riley deflects his blows until a kick sends him sprawling. Angel lunges at him but Riley is faster than he expects and Angel is blown back by the force of the taser. 

“Glad to see those rations are helping.” Riley stands effortlessly as Angel tries to make his limbs stop spasming.   
 “How-“ he chokes out. 

“They’ve been coming on my orders, as a favor to Buffy.” Finn stares at him in contempt. “They’re leaving the compound and I’m here to bring you to her.” 

Angel feels a wave of panic and tries to stand, landing on his arms. 

“I’ve loved her for a long time, and the only reason I’m here is because otherwise she’d get herself killed trying to rescue you.” Riley snorts in disgust. “She’s the more courageous woman I’ve ever met and it disgusts me she’s wasting herself on you.” 

Angel finally stands, hands on his knees, and glowers at Riley. “Is this where I thank you?” he spits. 

“If I killed you now it would be easy. I’d tell her Walsh got to you this morning, made you fight Adam and this time didn’t pull the killing blow.” 

“But you won’t,” Angel says. 

“I won’t. I gave my word to her and I won’t go back on that. But know that if it wasn’t for that, you’d be dead. She’d move on, eventually, and be better off for it.” 

Angel glares at Riley but says nothing, his pride taking a backseat to his desperation to get to Buffy. 

“Let’s go, vampire.” Riley steps aside and gestures with the taser. “Before I remember my morals are already compromised by working against Walsh.” 

+++  
Finn says nothing as they walk to the truck and the tension is palpable. He wonders how much is at risk for the soldier, and how much of his willing to help them is intrinsically motivated and how much is driven by Buffy. 

When they arrive at the hanger Angel is struck by two, distinct things: how many people are there, and how quiet it is. 

“Angel!” Buffy’s voice breaks through the silence and everyone turns to look as she runs to him, her arms wrapping around his body her face nuzzled into his neck. She breaks away too soon and turns to Riley, gratitude on her face. 

“Thank you,” she says and he nods, but says nothing. “We’re almost set to leave. Xander could use your help navigating.” 

Riley shakes his head. “I’m not going.” 

Buffy looks at him like she wants to argue but then stops. “Good luck, then.” 

When he’s gone Buffy leads Angel to a truck and gives him a seat in the back next to Doyle. “We leave in ten minutes. I’ll explain everything then.” 

Angel nods but says nothing, letting his head rest against the side of the truck. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Doyle says. “You doin’ ok?” 

Angel answers without opening his eyes. “Now I am.” 

++++  
The truck starts moving the minute Buffy jumps in the back. There are two long benches down each side with one more across the front and they are packed. Heartbeats pound in his ears and Angel pushes them away, focusing on Buffy’s hand that rests on his thigh. 

Simple touch. He’d missed the simplicity of a warm, casual touch. 

When they exit the compound there is a collective sigh of relief but he hears Buffy’s muttered, “Not out of the woods yet,” and squeezes her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have explained earlier but I couldn’t risk it.” Angel knows by this point that Buffy could lead him into the mouth of hell, and has, and he wouldn’t ask questions but he knows she’s expecting his curiosity so be obliges. 

“Where are we going?”

“Willow and Tara found a compound of witches. It’s almost a thousand miles away but it’s the most promising lead and frankly it can’t be worse than there.” 

“How did you get out?” 

“Cloaking spells, trucks in other directions. Walsh is testing out her shiny new super army at a military base 300 miles in the other direction for the next two days so by the time she realizes what’s happened we should be long gone.” 

He looks at her in awe, unable to fully comprehend that while he wasted away in his cell she had orchestrated an escape plot that had been executed, seemingly, flawlessly. She catches him looking and smiles coyly.

“What are you staring at?” she asks, teasingly, but he can’t match her tone. 

“You. You’re amazing.” 

Buffy blushes and looks away. “I was afraid you wouldn't make it out,” she says after a moment. “I never fully trusted Riley but….” He was their best option, their only option. He understands. “Our plan is to make as much headway as we can each day, and then campout when we can’t go any further.” 

“How long?” Angel asks, wondering how long it will take before Walsh realizes they're gone, if she will find them, if he will be able to find enough blood to survive. 

“As long as it takes.”

+++  
It takes almost a month. The snow makes roads impassable and the truck is unable to withstand the amount of power needed. They get sidelined for over a week while repairs are made and Angel watches, helplessly, as his companions struggle with hunger and fear. 

“We should have stayed,” Angel overhears Cordelia, a pretty brunette that he knows grew up with Buffy and Xander, telling Doyle one night. “I mean sure Walsh was crazy but at least it was warm! And we had food!” She’d only come along because of Doyle but it still bothers him to hear dissent. 

“I’ll keep you warm princess,” Doyle says and scoots over on the cot until his legs touch hers and wraps an arm around her shoulder. Sh=e rolls her eyes, but doesn’t move away. At least someone is having luck, Angel thinks. 

From his corner of the tent, a large canvas structure that keeps out the storm but not the cold, Angel watches as Buffy works with Wes and Giles in the center of the room. They’re pouring over maps and making notes about their journey and recalculating routes and Angel feels an aching loneliness. His presence is tolerated because Buffy has made it so, but he is not welcome and mostly keeps to himself. The first week she’d tried to weave him into the fabric of their group but it had only made things worse, so she finally let him be. 

He stands, stretching. The humans are hungry and he knows they think the same of him. Many keep crosses with them as they sleep. “Just in case,” Jenny had said their first night in the tent. Buffy had bristled but Angel pretended he hadn't heard and it passed without incident. 

Buffy catches his eye and he gestures outside, their shorthand that he is going hunting; generally futile in terms of sustenance but it keeps Buffy happy. She nods then turns back to the map. 

Outside the wind whips his face and he can feel his bones ache. Other than the camp there is nothing in sight for miles. Wherever they are has not seen humanity for decades and what buildings still remain seem to be on the verge of collapse. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of brown and moves solely on instinct. His demon relishes in these moments which are such a departure from his constant, controlled efforts to assimilate to the crowd of people around him. The deer disappears behind a thicket of trees and Angel follows, slowing his movements in time with the animal. It’s less cautious after decades without unnatural prey, and Angel’s more determined after decades without easy access to blood and before it knows what’s going on Angel brings it to the ground. His mouth closes on the deer’s jugular but he stops before he tears the neck open.

When he returns to camp with more meat than they’ve had in weeks Buffy’s eyes shine and she rewards him with a kiss. They build a fire and Angel steps back into the shadows as Xander doles out portions of the deer - gamey, but delicious, Buffy says. 

“Thank you Angel!” Willow hollers from across the tent and maybe it’s the food that warms their bellies but Angel thinks he sees even Gunn smile at him.

+++  
At night he wraps his large body around hers. Angel’s body is cold but will eventually absorb Buffy’s heat and when it does, she’ll snuggle more deeply into his chest. More than anything, that’s the moment he looks forward to each day. They haven’t talked about anything significant since his return from hell and his time with Walsh and he wonders if maybe now he’s too damaged for her to want. If she’s seen him for what he truly is, weak, and only returns to his side each night out of obligation.

He would understand, he lies to himself as her breathing evens out each night. Who would want him?

+++  
Angel was already removed from civilization before the Destruction and there was a part of him that was able to pretend that Giles had it wrong, and that humans had not actually destroyed the entire world. But as the truck rolls into what Angel immediately recognizes as Chicago, he knows that he can no longer pretend. He had been there with Whistler as they’d crossed the country in search of Angel’s salvation and he remembers it loud and busy and bright, nothing like the shells of buildings that he glimpses out of the canvas of the truck. 

On the bench across from him Giles catches his eye. “It’s different seeing it as opposed to just hearing about it.” 

Angel nods, unable to look away from the wreckage. “I had no idea.” 

“You were here, then?” 

“Once.” 

Their conversation is interrupted as the truck lurches to a stop. “We’re here,” Xander needlessly announces as he straps his gun across his chest and jumps out of the truck. Here doesn’t look like anywhere to Angel but he says nothing as Gunn joins Xander on a quick patrol. 

“I feel it,” Willow says and Tara nods. 

“How will they know to open the wards?” Wes asks and rubs his arms. The toll the trip has taken is visible in hollowed cheekbones, loose clothing and glassy eyes. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one had died, Angel thinks. 

“Hold on,” Willow says and joins hands with Tara. It’s quiet as they enter a trance and Angel shivers at the magic that crackles through the air. Buffy reaches and holds his hand in hers, cold and bony. 

“Done.” 

They pull back the flap of the truck and a building, glowing with warmth and welcome, stands before them. 

“That wasn’t there a minute ago,” Anya says. 

The doors open and a woman with long dark hair greets them. “It’s cold,” she says by way of greeting, and smiles. “Do come -“ She cuts herself off and narrows her eyes at Angel. “This one is not welcome. “

“He’s with us.” Willow holds her hands out in a non threatening gesture. “He has his soul.” 

The woman shakes her head. “I will need to bring this to the other members of my council,” she says. 

“Understandable,” Giles says. “Is there somewhere we can wait while you discuss it?” 

“No. The vampire will wait here. The rest of you are welcome.” Giles looks like he is going to argue but the woman holds up her hand. “We have not survived this long by taking risks.” 

Willow looks helplessly at Angel and then steps over the threshold. The rest of the camp follows and Angel knows he cannot blame them. 

“You’ll be here soon enough,” Doyle says over his shoulder, apologetically. “But in the meantime, man, I’m starving.” 

When it’s just him and Buffy left he folds his arms over his chest and tries to pretend the cold is just from the air. “Go,” he says and looks at his feet. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” she says stubbornly. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He looks her up and down for effect because he already knows how thin she is. “You need food.” 

“I’ve needed food for weeks. A few more hours won’t kill me.” 

“Buffy,” Giles says quietly from the doorway. “At least get something to eat.” 

He can see the fight build in her and then deflate. “Fine.” She turns to Angel and looks like she wants to reach out to him and then stops. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” 

Angel watches as she’s swallowed by the witches’ building. He considers leaving, running off into the wild and leaving Buffy to a life where she won’t be torn between two worlds but even as he’s thinking of the logistics of such a move he can feel himself climbing back into the truck. 

+++  
Buffy accepts a plate of beans and a piece of bread. They’re tasteless but warm and she can feel them stretching her empty belly. She’d hated leaving Angel behind but knows Giles was right and that she needs to be strong for both of them. When she’s done eating she stands and leaves her crew, who have helped themselves to seconds and thirds, and seeks out the woman who had greeted them originally.   
 “I need you to get your people and do whatever it is you need to do so Angel can come in.” The other woman raises her eyebrow and slowly finishes her bite of beans. 

“I don’t know where you’re from but I can tell you that around here, we don’t demand.” Buffy feels herself flush but her pride won’t let her back down. 

“Where I’m from we don’t let people sit out in the cold because we can’t be bothered to understand something.” A hush falls over the room.

“He’s a vampire. The cold does not affect him.” 

Buffy feels a veil of red descend over her eyes but before she can speak Wes’ hand is on her arm.

“Janet, please understand that to all of us, and to Buffy especially, Angel is not simply another vampire.” He looks at Buffy and she nods, her unleashed anger leaving her shaky. “He is in possession of a human soul, has recently spent an untold amount of time in Acathla ’s hell dimension and was just released from the grips of one who took pleasure in his pain under the guise of research.”

Janet looks at them for a long moment before she speaks. “You are the first people to find us in nearly ten years. While we have been given no reason to distrust you, there are those among us that distrust your motives. And the unexpected arrival of a vampire has done nothing to allay those fears.” 

“Willow and Tara did some mojo before, saw that he had a soul. Can’t you do something like that?” Janet regards her, accepts her words as the closest thing to an apology Buffy is likely to offer, and nods. 

“We can, but the presence of a soul does not eliminate the potential for evil.” 

“You trusted us enough to allow us access,” Tara says from where she’s seated across from Janet. “Perhaps you can trust our collective judgement about Angel.” 

Buffy watches as Janet surveys the small room and not a single member of her tribe disagrees. It warms her in a way the hot meal had been unable to, knowing that despite their personal feelings about Angel they were capable of putting them aside and rallying around her. 

“Very well.” 

+++  
Angel is in the back of the truck, as he’d promised, when they exit the compound. He looks almost surprised to see her and Buffy’s heart lurches. They've spent every night together since his release from Walsh but they haven't spoken. There’d been no time and Buffy didn’t seek it out. What would she say? She was sorry, so sorry, but couldn’t ask for or expect his forgiveness. 

Janet leads two other witches, Agatha and Felicity, to the back of the van. They nod warily at Angel but say nothing. Buffy explains what they’re doing but Agatha cuts her off as they bow their heads and concentrate on a glowing orb in the center of their circle. 

“An Orb of Thesulah,” Giles had told her and she’d started at him blankly. “Used for soul magick. Willow and Tara used one?” Her expression hadn’t changed and Giles had shaken his head. 

The orb begins to glow, pale at first and so brightly Buffy has to shield her eyes. The three women chant as Angel grimaces and Buffy is about to tell them to stop when abruptly, they do. The light rushes out of the orb and Angel collapses against the wall behind him. 

“What was that?” Buffy demands. 

“You spoke the truth,” Janet says without looking away from Angel. “This one has a soul.” 

“An old soul,” Agatha says as she picks up the orb. “He’s seen more than I care to dwell on.” 

“Come, vampire.” Felicity opens the door to the compound and Angel follows them in. “You are welcome here.” 

+++  
There had been the beginning of a conversation about where Angel would sleep and when Buffy offered her room, no one pretended not to look relieved. Allowing a vampire in their space was one thing, but giving him unguarded freedom was another and having him under the watchful eye of the Slayer was a nice reassurance. 

When Buffy opens the door to her room, Angel stands just outside the door. 

“Oh, sorry,” she starts to say but Angel shakes his head. 

“It’s not that,” he says and when he looks at her she feels tiny. “You don’t need to take care of me.”

“I know,” she says automatically. But doesn’t she, she thinks? 

“Then why didn’t you let them give me my own room?” 

“Oh.” Realization dawns on her and she fights the urge to look at the ground. “I can get you a new room, if that’s what you’d prefer.” 

“No.” Angel doesn’t move, and for a minute they stand in silence. 

“Then what?” she finally snaps.

“I don’t want to be your burden.” 

“Oh.” Angel turns to leave but Buffy reaches for his arm. The bed calls to her achingly exhausted body and her stomach rumbles for more food but none of that matters once her lips touch his. She shivers from the delicious chill of his body and everything else falls away. Apologies and forgiveness, if it’s hers to be had, can come later because this is all she’s dreamed about doing since his return from Hell. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” she whispers when they break apart.

“Sorry?” Angel echoes, his eyes hooded. 

Buffy swallows. “I dreamt about you, every night. And it was my fault that you were - there. And I couldn’t do anything about it.” 

“Acathla ,” he finally says. “Buffy, that’s not your fault.” 

“It is. I thought your blood would be enough.” He shakes his head but she barrels on, the words spilling out of a dam. “And then Walsh took you and Angel, I am so so sorry.” Buffy wipes a tear from her eye and takes a deep breath. “I understand that you don’t want to be with me, Angel. I wouldn’t either.” 

“I want to be with you more than anything else,” he finally says. “But I don’t deserve you and you don’t deserve to be with someone like me.” 

“Someone like you?” 

“I wasn’t strong before Acathla , before Walsh.” 

“And you think that affects how I feel about you?” His expression is answer enough. “I’ve spent all this time thinking you’re barely tolerating my presence and it was for nothing?” 

“There is nothing you could do, Buffy….” he trails off but she feels warm at what’s left unsaid. 

Buffy steps back into his embrace and sighs as his arms close around her, holding her like she might float away from him.  They eventually move to the bed where Buffy helps Angel remove his dirty boots and torn clothing before doing the same.  When they're in just their under layers she holds up the blanket and he climbs in, where she takes her place in his arms.  It's where she's slept for the past month and despite his nightmares where she sleeps the best. 

"I missed you," she whispers and he nuzzles the back of her neck.  "Angel..."

He pulls her tighter against his body until she can no longer tell where she ends and he begins.  "I love you," she whispers. 

"I love you," he repeats.  "I love you and you're the only thing that kept me going.  I didn't know who I was, or what I was fighting for but I could feel you, with me."  He trails off as Buffy feels a single tear roll down her cheek and turns until they're facing each other.  "No, Buffy."

"How can you not blame me?" she whispers. 

"Because you saved the world."  He says it without hesitation. 

"At your expense."  She cannot understand his peace and cannot release herself of guilt.  "You were in - in hell, Angel.  And I sent you there."

They lay in silence for a moment.  "Maybe I paid back part of the debt I owe."

"Angel-"

"Maybe I can be forgiven, someday," he says.  "And maybe I can't."  

"You have to forgive yourself first," she says. "You are not your demon."

"I carry the memories."

"That doesn't make you guilty, and it doesn't mean you deserved to be sent to hell."  Buffy's voice shakes.  "I can't forgive myself, Angel."  

"You have to," he whispers.  "I forgive you because this might be the first step on a path to redemption."

"And if it's not?"

"I don't deserve it any less."  He says and she burrows into his chest. 

"You still have nightmares," Buffy says and he flinches.  "You can't pretend that it doesn't affect you."

There's a long pause and she thinks she's gone too far.  When Angel would go hunting at the camp she would talk to Willow and Wes and even Giles on occasion and they all told her the same thing: she had to let it go.  But they had not seen his wild eyes or shaking hands or bloodied face, hadn't held the knife that sent him to hell or been unable to soothe his aching body behind a barrier.  Logically she knows that guilt will rot a relationship at its core but when Angel shakes or moans as he sleeps she cries silently until long after he's settled. 

"I dream.  Sometimes of what I've done or my time in the mines, and sometimes of Acathala'sAcathla's dimension or Walsh's lab."  He speaks slowly.  "But those aren't the ones that hurt.  It's when you're there..." he trails off.

"Oh," is all she can think to say. 

“My burdens are my own. They’re not yours to bear,” he says softly, but with conviction. “My time in hell, or with Walsh, or anything else pale in comparison to what I’ve done. Guilt will consume you, Buffy. You have to release it.” 

“It’s not that easy,” she says because there’s no way she can hear him talk about those times and not feel the weight of her role. But she can sense the urgency of Angel’s words and knows that he will take her guilt and add it to his conscience. “I can try.”

He kisses her forehead, and then her lips and soon she’s lost in the familiar comfort of his touch. It feels like an eternity has passed since they first made love and she mourns the way it felt like the world was theirs and nothing could touch them. Too much has happened and even as her body rejoices at being reunited with his she cannot quell the fear that it might be ripped away. They meet urgently and she moans his name as she comes, breathing heavily and covered in a fine layer of sweat. When he follows her, moments later, she wraps her arms around him and pulls him close. 

“I love you,” Buffy whispers as tears spring to her eyes, unbidden. She tries to hide but he sees and kisses her, gently, understanding. 

“I love you,” his tone is so reverent that Buffy thinks it if was anyone else, it would frighten her. 

“Forever?” she asks. 

“That’s the whole point.” 

+++  
Angel wakes with Buffy in his arms, her arms wrapped tightly around him even in sleep. He’s more rested than he’s been in as long as he can remember and feels, deep within his soul, a contentment that frightens him even if he knows it does not pose a threat. 

Under her creamy skin a vein pulses and he stares, longer than he should or would normally allow himself. The demon demands her blood, infused with a power than even now, months later, makes him shake with want. The part of him that should feel repulsed isn’t and without thinking he extracts himself from her hold and moves off the small bed.

“Angel?” Buffy says, voice thick with sleep. Hew eyes open and she furrows her brow in confusion as he pulls pants over his hips. “What are you doing?”

“I…” he starts to say but trails off because he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. That his self control is hanging by a threat? That her scent is overpowering? That the thought of her blood makes him hard? He ties off the pants and reaches for his shirt. 

“What’s going on?” she demands with a sharp edge to her voice. Buffy sits up and pulls the sheet around her. “What are you doing Angel?” 

“I have to go,” is all he can muster before turning to the door. But he’s underestimated her and she's blocking it before he can touch the knob. 

“You have to go,” she repeats his words with a layer of malice. “Go where, exactly?” 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly and forces himself to look at the chipped paint on the door. 

“Ok so you won’t tell me where. How about why?” Hurt is disguised with anger and Angel feels something in him wilt. 

“I can’t be here.” He takes a step back as she rakes fingers through her hair, letting pieces fall to the side and expose her neck. A vein pulses, ripe with anger and hurt and he clenches his fingers and closes his eyes. 

“What’s going on, Angel?” She speaks slower, and some of her anger seems to have fallen away and he can feel her eyes bore into him. “Tell me.” 

He can’t form the words and shakes his head instead. 

“You’re hungry,” she says and he jerks at his transparency. 

“Buffy….” 

“I asked you once not to lie to me,” she says and takes a step closer to him. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I need to feed,” he finally says. “Is that what you want to hear? That I’m an animal?” 

“You’re not an animal,” she says. “You require blood.” 

He laughs bitterly at her fairytale like description. “I’m a corpse, Buffy. I’m not living or breathing and the only way I remain animated is by feeding the demon with blood.”

“Are you trying to repulse me? Push me away?” Her words are casual but her arms fold across her chest. “Because it’s not that easy.” 

“I want to drink from you, Buffy. My demon…I….I want you.” He means to sound angry but his voice deflates. “It’s not safe.” 

Buffy’s arms drop and she steps towards him, folding his body against hers. “What are you doing?” he asks and starts to pull away.

“I trust you,” she says even though he can hear her heart pounding as she drops the sheet. “I trust you.” 

“What are you doing?” His words get stuck in his throat and come out hoarse. The demon dances in time with her pulse and he can feel his self control falter. “Buffy…”

“There’s no blood here, Angel. No donors, no banks. The coven isn’t going to lower the wards for you and risk exposure.” She tilts her head. “This is all you have.” 

The exhilaration he feels at her words sicken him. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says weakly and she flares her nostrils. 

“Don’t dismiss me, Angel. I’m not a child. I understand exactly what I am doing and I trust you enough to know you’ll only take what you need.” Buffy stands straighter, her naked body beautiful and strong and he can no longer resist. 

“Not like this,” he whispers and gently lowers her back to the bed. She furrows her brow but he silences her with a kiss. Angel goes as slowly as he can manage, bringing her to the edge and back before finally giving her release. As she moans his name he sinks his teeth into her thigh and she comes harder, her blood rich and her body shaking. It’s not enough, not nearly enough but he finally pulls away from her and rests his head on her thigh. After a moment she runs her fingers over his head and his demon recedes. 

“Angel,” she whispers. “That was…” She pats the space next to her on the bed but he moves to the chair on the other side of the small room. She frowns and he shakes his head. 

“I can’t be next to you, not right now.” She nods and lies back down. 

“Was that…?” She smiles and despite the demon Angel feels a lightness in his being that almost scares him because it doesn’t seem possible that Buffy could look at with anything other than disgust and she looks happy. 

“You are beautiful,” he says and she flushes. 

“Were you able to get, you know, enough?”

Never he thinks, but he says “yes,” and her smile is reward enough. 

“I expected it to hurt,” she says and runs a hand through her hair. “But it didn’t. It felt, well, incredible.” He knows, can tell by the taste of her blood and the force of her climax. But he keeps it to himself because the last thing he wants to do is make her uncomfortable. 

They sit in silence for long moments as Angel forces the demon back into the box he carefully constructs to keep it under control. He likes to think of it as a casket, or something he could bury permanently, because even though his soul without threat his dark urges remain. 

+++  
Buffy’s growling stomach wakes him before it does her and he watches as she sleeps, tucked in the crook of his arm. She wakes a few minutes later and smiles at him. 

“Morning,” she says and he grins at her. 

“Morning yourself.” Buffy runs her hand through her hair and frowns. 

“Did you notice a rat set up a nest in my hair while I was sleeping?” She finger combs out the tangles as her stomach rumbles again. She makes a face. 

“You should get food,” he says and extracts his body from hers. Buffy looks like she wants to argue but then stands and dresses in a pair of soft pants and a shirt Agatha had given her the day before. 

“Ready?” It hadn’t occurred to Angel that he would go with her but her expression indicates otherwise and he follows her out the door. There’s a stair case at the end of the hall and they walk down a flight of stairs and through a hallway before Buffy pushes open a door to what appears to be a dining hall. Angel estimates it’s around midday and it’s appropriately full but their entrance goes unnoticed. He follows her to the food counter where she takes a bowl of beans and two slices of bread, biting into it before heading to the table where most of their crew are already eating. 

“Beans!” Xander exclaims as they take a seat. “I mean, is there anything better than beans?” Buffy shakes her head ruefully and dives into her own bowl. 

“Who knew?” she says.

“Did you sleep well?” Wes asks and Xander snorts. 

“Xander!” Willow admonishes and smiles apologetically at Buffy. “Sorry, we’re all a little punchy this morning.” 

“No, I get it,” Buffy says but Angel can see the flush in her cheeks. “All is well on the Buffy front. You guys?” 

“This place is pretty great.” Doyle shoves a piece of bread in his mouth, spitting crumbs. “I mean, it’s been fun barely surviving with you all for the past month and all, but I have to say these witches have this post-apocalyptic survival thing down pat.” 

Cordelia smiles at him and reaches for his hand, and Angel can practically feel Doyle purr. 

“Yes, well. We have a sit down with the head of the coven after we’re done eating,” Giles says. “We need a game plan.” Angel wants to ignore the outside world and just exist here, with Buffy in his bed and enough food to feed them all. It’s warm, and safe, and the thought of another fight makes him ache. 

“Can’t we take a break?” Willow echoes Angel’s thoughts. 

“You know we can’t,” Giles says and shakes his head. “As much as I’d like to a lot can happen in a month and we have no idea the extent of destruction Walsh has done since we’ve been on the run.”

“Lots.” Oz looks up from his bowl. “I mean, thats just a guess.” 

“Very helpful,” Wes says. There’s a camaraderie that Angel knows stems from the security they all feel for the first time in a long time, and really since his arrival at their old compound. He promised Buffy he would not dwell so he forces it out of his mind and instead soaks in companionship of the table, even if he is on the fringe. 

“She didn’t track us,” Willow is saying. “Her armies are covering a lot of ground but we’re not on her radar.” 

“Good.” Jenny sits on the other side of Giles and looks at Angel only when she thinks he’s not looking. She looks less angry than the last time she saw him and he wonders if her grudges are fading or if she’s under the same spell as everyone else; well fed, well rested and safe. 

“So now we regroup and fight?” Gunn shovels food into his mouth with the efficiency only a soldier can manage and then pushes his empty bowl aside. “How do we defeat these things?”

“We’re set to meet with the coven this afternoon. They’ve been keeping an eye on Walsh since Willow and Tara contacted them and have information on her whereabouts,” Giles says. 

“So we’ll have their location. And we’ll just need what, a plan? Cake.” Xander finishes his meal and leans back in his chair. “Our last plan was - run!”

“It worked,” Cordelia shoots. “We’re here, and we’re alive.” 

“And happy!” Doyle interjects and she rolls her eyes. 

“Walsh doesn’t know anything about magick,” Tara says. “That might be our key.” 

Angel thinks about Adam and shivers. He’s the only one that’s faced it and survived and that was only because Walsh had called off his death. The thought of the others facing him, no matter the influence or protection of magick, makes him numb. 

Buffy sits up straighter and pushes her bowl away. “When do we meet?” 

+++  
They meet following the afternoon meal, after stomachs are full and the plates are cleared. Those not invited to the meeting quietly make their way out of the room until it’s just Buffy and her people, Agatha and her coven. 

“Do you know where they are?” Giles asks as they sit around one of the long tables. 

Agatha nods and takes her own seat. “They’ve been traveling steadily east. They came through the city a week before you but our wards held.” 

Xander lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit.” 

“So what’s their goal?” 

“As far as we can tell they’re looking to Atlanta. That’s where the remaining government officials fled went after the bombs. If Walsh is looking for a total takeover, we imagine that’s her endgame.” Janet runs a hand through her hair, and sighs. “They’re working on rebuilding as much as we are. They still have contact with other governments, they think they’ve mapped the remaining camps.” 

“They haven’t?” Wes presses his fingers into the table and Agatha laughs. 

“Oh, most of them sure. But there are a few, such as this one, which remain hidden even to the, shall we say - talents? of the government.” 

“They use magick, then?” Giles asks. 

“Yes, of course. But they’re not as good at is as we are.” 

“That’s a surprise,” Giles chuckles with Agatha and Janet as the others look on blankly. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s just that the government was never particularly functional, even before the Destruction.” 

Buffy nods, not really getting it. “So we go to Atlanta, then?” 

“That’s nearly 1,000 miles from here,” Janet frowns. “Walsh has a significant lead.” 

“So we leave soon.” Xander’s legs bounce under the table.

“We can give them a heads up,” Willow says and her expression is the one Buffy secretly thinks of as resolve face. “We can reach out to the government and tell them to prepare. If we leave soon, today, we can make it.”

The room erupts in noise - protests and affirmations and Buffy waits a minute before standing up. 

“Willow is right,” she says and to her surprise people stop taking. “We cannot let them face this alone.” 

“We will not risk ourselves at their expense,” Janet snaps. “We’re safe because we’ve remained hidden.”

“And what happens if Walsh takes over?” Buffy feels her muscles coil with tension. 

“It is of no consequence to us.” Janet’s expression is hard. “The government is what got us here and we had to fight to survive. We will not risk the lives of our people to save them.”

“What about Walsh’s victims?” 

“We did nothing to cause it.” Felicity’s jaw is hardened and Buffy feels her own clench. 

“And now you’ll do nothing to prevent it. You can’t claim ignorance anymore.” 

“Enough.” Giles slams his fist with enough force to make the table shake and the room silence. “We are not asking you to do anything more than communicate, which you are capable of doing without giving away your location. I understand your need for security but what happens when Walsh gets hold of strong magic?”

Janet’s expression wavers for a moment but she doesn’t back down. “Our stance does not change. We have given you food and shelter and if you wish to remain, you may do so. But our aid does not extend beyond that.” 

“Excuse us,” Giles stands with Buffy and the others follow. “We will leave as soon as our transport is ready.” 

+++  
“I don’t like it,” Angel says as they toss their belongings into their bags. “It’s dangerous.” 

“Of course it’s dangerous,” Buffy snaps and then takes a deep breath. “We don’t have a choice.” 

“I know.” Angel sits on the side of the bed. “I wish the coven was on board.” 

“Willow and Tara are trying to contact the government. If they can at least give them a heads up, we’ll be in better shape.” 

“Two fronts,” Angel says and Buffy softens and sits next to him, taking his hand. 

“This will work, Angel. We’re just getting started.” She isn’t sure who leans in first but when their lips meet, the world falls away. “I love you,” she whispers. 

Buffy allows herself to be lost in his desperate longing until there’s a knock at the door and they pull apart, letting their fingers trail. 

“Ready?” Wes asks.

“Ready.” 

+++  
Their truck has been repaired at the coven and the trip passes in a blur. They spend less time in camp and instead sleep in between driving shifts. They have enough food to last for a week but they they still ration themselves until they’re within one hundred miles of the government station and Giles insists they ready for battle. 

Willow and Tara attempt to reach out every night but there’s no way of knowing if their successful, so they plan for a one front war. It terrifies Buffy, to think they have to face an army of super demons, but she tries to hide it. Xander and Gunn overcompensate with endless strategy and Angel remains silent. 

The atmosphere of their truck changes when they're less than a day out from their destination.  Willow and Tara have stopped sending messages and conserve their energy, pouring over spell books and tweaking incantations and instead of keeping to themselves, the rest of their group gives in to their nerves.  Buffy recognizes it as the same energy as before their encounter with Acathla.  Before she'd been reserved and considered the soldiers foolish but now she lowers her inhibitions and lives like she's going to die - which, if she's being honest with herself, she knows most likely will happen.  

They set up their final camp 25 miles outside of the Atlanta, taking care to construct the tent so that it will survive even if they won't.  They hang sheets to act as walls and ignore the sounds that come from behind each one.  Even Angel, who does not allow himself the release everyone else seems to have found, makes her feel alive when they close their curtain.  He drinks at her insistence and she rests at his and in the between times they worship each other.  

When they can wait no longer they load up.  Their backs are laden with mismatched weapons and Giles says they look like a motley crew so they take to calling themselves that.  They move quietly and efficiently which surprises Buffy as everyone, even those with no military training, have come along.  They cross an abandoned highway that a sign tells them is I-85 until they can spot what Wes identifies as the government building.

"The Center for Disease Control," he mutters.  "Of course."  

Walsh's impending arrival is announced when Doyle collapses, writhing in pain.  "Now," he finally croaks before resting his head back on Cordelia's lap. 

"Good to know the Powers have our back," Wes mutters and look at his watch.  "What took them so long?" It had been weeks since Doyle had a vision and it had been unnerving.

"Can't tip those cosmic scales too much," Tara says and rests her fingertips on Doyle's temples.  

"Ahhh," he breathes. 

They don't waste any more time and when they arrive the fight is in full swing.  Buffy sees the tanks and the well armed soldiers and is relieved that Willow and Tara were able to get a message through.  But when they get close enough to see the bodies on the ground her relief evaporates and is replaced by a chilling fear.  Her people - because she's the Slayer and so technically this is her calling and technically these people are hers - are armed to the teeth with outdated weapons and not much else.   Three are trained soldiers and two are witches and the rest are here because they'd rather die fighting the good fight than watching from the sidelines.  

Xander and Gunn give the battle cry and they're off, followed by Buffy and Angel.  Willow and Tara stand on the hill and start chanting as mortars from the military tanks explode around them.  Walsh's army of demons are not expecting the attack from behind but they recover quickly, too quickly.  She hears the sounds of battle, the snapping of bones and the ripping of skin but doesn't spare a glance because it would mean her death.  She ducks and swings and kicks and stays alive and wills Willow and Tara to work their magick, and quickly.  

When the spell hits her, everything falls away.  Buffy knows, because she's been told, that she will be taking on the power and strengths of the people on the hill - of Giles and Wes, Willow and Tara, Doyle and Cordelia.  But she's unprepared for the sheer rush of strength, the raw primal power that rushes through her center.  

She rises up and roars, a release of energy that makes the ground quake and Angel look at her in awe.  Buffy smiles and pushes forward, ripping out the hearts of the first two demons before they can catch their bearings.  But she has only a minute of this calm before the attention is turned to her and she's on the defense while Gunn, Xander and Angel tag team the demons on her periphery.  She dodges the military fire and lets her body take control and feels almost like she's in a dream when bodies begin to drop around her.   

When she spares a look to her side she can see that Gunn has gone down.  Buffy looks further over her shoulder and sees that Willow and Tara are swaying with exhaustion and wonders how much longer she has.  The spell has given her the power to extinguish a significant number of these demons but they are nowhere near victory.  A mortar lands to her left and a demon explodes in a shower of blood and body parts and that's Buffy's cue; she runs across the battlefield at full bore until she's reached the other side.  

"I'll draw their fire!" she screams and thinks she sees a nod from a man she hopes is in charge.  But before she can take off she feels it - her own power and strength shining back at her in a mirror that's taken the form of a young woman with long, brown curls and a hardness to her stare.  

Slayer something in her acknowledges and she nods and the two set across the field.  They draw the attention of the remaining super demons who recognize them as their biggest threat and soon they've wrapped themselves around the two women in all the world designed to kill them.  They lock eyes and then nod because there is no going back.  

When the explosions start Buffy thinks it looks like it's raining fire and it's so bright she wonders if this is what the world looked like when the sun would shine.  Then the moment passes and she's back to back with this other Slayer and they move in sync until the demons collapse.  

They stand in the center of the field as fire falls from the sky and body parts carpet the ground around them.  She turns to the other woman and grins, the power making her feel electric.  But before she can throw her hands up in celebration a voice makes her freeze. 

"You haven't won yet," Walsh screams at her from the inside of a tank where she's survived the onslaught of explosions.   From behind her one more demon rises up and Buffy feels the world begin to spin.  

"Riley," she breathes as her sister Slayer resumes her fighting stance and the demon wearing Riley's face crosses the field.  

"Miss me?" he grins and Buffy ducks under his swing. 

"What did she do to you?"  she gasps as he moves closer.  Across the field she can see Angel moving towards them in slow motion.  

"Oh, Buffy."  Riley rights himself to his full height.  "We could have reigned together."  

The other Slayer attacks but Riley throws her off like a bug and Buffy feels it too - the power that's propelled them to this point is weakening and she staggers under the sudden loss.  Angel launches himself and Riley screams as the vampire latches onto his back and sinks his fangs into his neck and Buffy takes advantage of his distraction to attack.  Riley arches his back and flexes and Angel screams as spikes emerge from Riley's back and bury themselves in his torso and he falls to the ground.  

For long moments the fight feels like a timeless dance.  Riley attacks and Buffy ducks, Buffy attacks and Riley laughs.  He's waiting for her energy to deplete and she knows it's a losing battle.  Walsh laughs and the military waits for an opportunity to attack and her people stare helplessly from their place on the hill.  They may have won the battle but they've lost the war, she thinks. 

Riley lands a blow and sends her sprawling.  Buffy scrambles for purchase and screams as her hand lands on a mortar shell, still burning.  Riley leaps across the field toward her and she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, pushing away the pain as she reaches for the shell.  When he lands on her and grins she kisses him which is enough to shock him into silence.  Her hand feels white hot with pain as she lets the fire burn a hole into his chest and he roars with rage as she pulls out his heart.  A fine layer of ash blankets her and she thinks, maybe she’ll get to see her mother.

Then all goes dark.

+++  
The room is made of white marble and feels pleasantly cool beneath her bare feet.  Buffy is wearing a white dress and her hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves. 

"Lower being," a woman says.  Her skin is gold and her eyes sparkle, and she is clad similarly to Buffy.  "You are here because the Powers see fit to reward you for your service."  

"My service?"  Buffy's brow crinkles and she remembers the battle, her fall to the earth and the swimming blackness.  "My death." 

"Life and death are fluid," a man says and steps out from behind one of the pillars. He's almost identical to the female, save for his cropped hair.  

"But I died," Buffy says.  The words taste funny.  "I'm dead." 

The male sighs in exasperation.  "You are neither of the living or the dead until you choose the terms of the offer bestowed upon you by the Powers."  

"You can continue to live, as a Slayer, and continue to accept all that the mortal life has to offer.  There are no guarantees and there are no absolutes."  The woman's voice is a singsong but she sounds bored. 

"Or you can take your reward and enter your final resting place.  You will be at peace."  

"My mom," she whispers and the male inclines his chin.  

“Your mother waits for you.”

"But...Angel..." The female frowns and looks at the male.  

"The vampire Angelus has not earned a place of rest," she says sourly.  

"Can he?" 

"A path is ever evolving until it reaches its end," the male says and Buffy stares at him for a long moment.  

“If I choose to go back?” she asks and they exchange a look. 

"Your path will evolve then as well, Slayer.  There are no guarantees and there are no absolutes."  

She nods, thinks of Angel and her mother and closes her eyes. 

+++  
The first thing Buffy is aware of is the warmth.  The second is the quiet.  The chaos of the battle field is gone and when she forces her eyes open she can see it's been replaced with a sterile room.  

"Buffy?"  Angel's voice is tentative.  “Buffy."

She smiles even though her lips are cracked and her mouth is dry and her body aches.  "Angel?"  she croaks.  

He bows his head and rests his forehead on her bandaged hand and she can see him shaking.  She remembers and closes her eyes.  How long has she been out?

"I'm ok," she whispers.  "I'm ok." 

+++  
She'll find out later that it's been ten days since the battle.  She'd fallen unconscious on the field and been transferred to their medical ward where no human ailment had been detected.  Angel had stayed with her the entire time.

+++  
Word that she is awake spreads quickly and soon her small room is crowded.  Angel doesn't move from her side and she takes comfort in that, even if his eyes are haunted and his cheeks are hollow.  

Everyone looks battle weary although Buffy imagines that if she were to look in a mirror she'd find the same.  Willow tells her that the spell was more powerful and more draining than they'd realized and when the fight was over they had slept for three days.  

"With some strange dreams," Xander had added.  "Cheese?"  

The others nod and Buffy furrows her brow.  "Cheese?"

"We'll fill you in later," Giles says and arches an eyebrow.  "How are you?"

"Good," she says automatically.  "What happened?" 

"What do you remember?" Wes asks and she stops at the bandage on his forehead.  "Ah, I'm fine.  Got knocked out and hit a rock on the way down."  

She nods.  "I felt this power, a raw power?  That was the spell, right?  I don't think I expected it to last that long, or be that encompassing."  

"We think the coven from Chicago may have helped," Tara says.  "We've reached out to them but we're getting nothing back.  If it was them, they've gone back into hiding." 

"We're grateful for their help, of course," Giles sighs.  "I just wish they had committed sooner.  We may have been able to avoid some of the casualties."   

 "This might sound strange, but," Buffy leans forward.  "Was there another Slayer?"

"Yup," Xander says from where he leans against the wall with his arm in a sling and a bandage across his forehead.  "She also got hit with the spell.  Pretty badass, right?" 

"How?"

"Her name is Faith, and she was called after you died fighting Acathla ," Willow says matter of factly.  

"I didn't die!" Buffy protests indignantly then stops.  "I mean, it was only for a minute." 

"Turns out that's all that's required for the Slayer line to be activated," Wes says.  "This is entirely unprecedented but as best we can tell she is as much a Slayer as you are." 

"Is."  Buffy repeats.  "So she survived?"

"She did."  Gunn is in a wheelchair, his legs wrapped in a cast and Buffy remembers seeing him on the ground and shivers.  

"Do you remember the end, Buffy?"  Giles' voice is gentle.  

"Riley?"  It's all she can manage over the lump that appears in her throat at the mention of his name.  

"Riley.  Walsh turned him, then used his body to create the most vicious of her demon army."  Giles speaks carefully and watches her reaction but she just nods, numb.  

"He didn't deserve that." 

"No, he didn't."  

"I killed him," she says and Angel squeezes her hand gently.  

"No, Buffy," Giles says.  "Walsh killed him."  

There's silence as Buffy lets the reality of the last two weeks sink in.  They're here, they're alive - 

"Where are Cordelia and Doyle?" 

Xander clears his throat.  "There was blowback, from the spell.  They're both still unconscious."  

"Oh," is all she can think to say.  

"We're working with the military, looking to rebuild here."  Wes speaks slowly, as if he's trying out how the words taste in his mouth.  Buffy thinks she should object, point to when they were forced to work with Walsh but she can't.  This is a safe choice, she can feel it in the pillow beneath her head and the blanket that keeps her warm and Angel’s presence by her side.  "It will be a slow process but they're willing to work with us, and learn from us."  

"Walsh?"  

"She's being held until they can conduct a trial," Giles says.  "She's likely going to be held in prison for the remainder of her life."

"So she survived?"  

Xander nods.  "After you were knocked out she tried to flee but the government got her. She wasn’t counting on Riley’s defeat.”  

There's more small talk but Buffy can't focus, not really.  She feels like she's just returned from the dead and she's wired and tired all at once.  Eventually the others leave, trickling out until it's just her and Angel. 

"Hi," she says when the door closes behind Willow.  

"Buffy," he says and she gets goose bumps.  "I was afraid I'd lost you." 

"You can't get rid of me that easily," she teases and then stops.  "I was afraid you were going to do something foolish."  He looks away and she takes his chin in her hand and forces him to look at her.  "Angel?"  

"I thought I lost you," he repeats with a rawness that cuts to her heart.  "It's been ten days, Buffy.  They couldn't find anything wrong.  You just wouldn't wake up."  

"I was somewhere else," she says and shakes her head at his confusion.   "I was with messengers, to the Powers that Be.  They offered me a choice...and I chose."  

"You came back," he whispers, understanding.  “You could have been at peace.” 

“Not without you.” 

She leans over and kisses him, feeling a lightness that's been absent in the face of certain death and destruction.  Buffy can't face the world yet, can't see what's beyond these walls and beyond tomorrow but she can kiss Angel here and now and that's more than she was promised yesterday.  

+++  
Epilogue   
One Year Later

Buffy stands in her small kitchen with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, watching the snow fall out of her window. This morning ritual is her own and she savors these moments when the rest of her people sleep, safe from whatever exists outside. 

The apartment in small but it is the first place in her life she feels like she can call home. The government had set up infrastructure in Atlanta designed to withstand any number of catastrophes, and Buffy and her people have assimilated to life in the City. It’s the closest thing she has ever seen to the photos they would study, with a main street and shops and a school, and she revels in the approximation of what she knows was once normal. 

She takes a long sip of coffee and closes her eyes as the steam lingers on her face. It’s warmer here than anywhere else she’s lived but it’s virtually impossible to fully shed the chill of their perpetual winter. Buffy patrols daily and each time it takes a hot bath to thaw her fingers and toes. More than once Angel has caught her staring in the mirror after her bath and teases her for being vain and she can’t bring herself to tell him she’s in awe that her edges are softening. 

There’s a noise in the other room and she knows it’s Angel, rousing himself from the comfort of their bed. He walks to their bathroom and she steals a look at his body, which no longer bears the marks of his time in the mines, or Hell, or with Walsh. His muscles ripple as he pulls on his shirt and joins her in the kitchen and she remembers their first couple months here. Recovery had been painful for both of them and even now they cannot fully escape the past. 

“Morning,” he says and wraps his arms around her waist. 

“Morning,” she replies with a smile and leans into his embrace. This, too, is part of her morning ritual. There are no obstacles to their time together but they don’t take it for granted. The mines are a memory and Acathla is out of commission and Walsh will spend the rest of her time in jail but it doesn’t mean that they’ve forgotten. They can’t forget the past or ignore the danger they still face.

They stand in silence until Buffy finishes her coffee and leans back to kiss Angel. “Ready?” 

+++  
The walk from their apartment to headquarters takes them five minutes. It’s early so it’s quiet but Buffy knows that in a matter of hours there will be the sound of people living - children’s laughter and business transactions and lover’s quarrels. She takes Angel’s hand and he gently squeezes hers. 

They arrive at the tall, formidable building in the center of their town and take off their outerwear before ascending three flights of stairs and entering the large room at the end of the hall. It’s time for their weekly status meeting and although she knows she should hate the bureaucracy of it all there’s something comforting about being all together. 

“Shall we?” Giles asks when they’re all seated, and they begin. “Are there any updates to report?” 

“Nothing new to report on Cordelia,” Doyle says with a sigh. “Every time I think I can reach the Powers it’s just another dead end.” 

“We’ll keep looking too,” Tara says. It’s the same news as always but it never gets easier to bear. 

“Oz is recovering?” Giles asks and looks at Xander over his notes, who nods. He’d been bitten by a werewolf on patrol and had not escaped unscathed.

“Yeah, the second night always hits him hardest,” he says and rubs his eyes. “Oh, and that book you gave me to read to him? Yeah, in the future let’s shelve the ones that involve hunting rabbits.” 

There’s a chuckle and Giles nods and writes something down. He’s the leader of their group and works with the president of the government, as was the design when they were with Walsh, except that they’ve worked to make it an even partnership. Buffy is constantly surprised at the willingness of the government to work with them, even if Wes has reminded her time and again that the battle would have been lost without their arrival. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Faith says as she pushes the door open with her hip and pulls Gunn’s wheelchair behind her. “Someone didn’t want to get out of bed.” 

Gunn shrugs. “I mean, can ya blame me?” Faith rolls her eyes and pushes him against the table before sitting down. 

“What did I miss?” she asks and the others fill her in. Their shared bond on the battlefield had faded and the reality of their shared burden of a role designed for one makes their relationship complicated. They share a nod over the table but Buffy can see the tightness in her smile and lines around her eyes. Gunn’s injury has not fully healed and it takes its toll. 

“We found another camp a few days ago,” Tara says. “A team is headed out there now.” Giles doesn’t write this down because it was organized by the government, who regularly finds and relocates survivors in less than adequate camps. Buffy has gone on a few missions but in general she finds them tedious and opts to stay behind, not interested in seeing the conditions others are forced to live in. 

“Anything else?” Giles asks and when no one answers, he looks at Buffy. “I have a mission for you,” he says and she sits up straighter. “There is a rumor that camps in the North are falling to something we can’t identify from a distance,” he says. 

“And you need us to go investigate,” she says. It’s implied that Angel will go with her. He’s been accepted into their new world as best as she could have hoped and while there are many people who will not be in the same room as him without Buffy there, too, they’ve accepted it for what it is. Outside of a social setting their roles are clearly defined and Buffy takes great joy in knowing they can all sit around a table together, or strategize together, and if she’s being honest, that he’s finally considered her equal in battle. 

“We took in a few refugees this week,” Wes says. “They say that the people in the villages are still there, they’ve just had their life force sucked out.” 

“So they’re what? Vegetables?” Buffy wrinkles her nose. 

“Reports indicate that they’re slightly insane, actually. Not dead, just, unable to function normally. It’s very strange and we can’t find a demon that matches the modus operandi.” Giles pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’ve scheduled you to leave tomorrow.” 

When the meeting finally adjourns they walk slowly back to their apartment, the streets now alive with the sound of people. 

“What are you thinking?” Angel asks. She’s thinking about packing, about how they will spend their last night for a while in the comfort of their home, if Cordelia will wake up, if Gunn will walk again, if she will live long enough for Angel to see her grow old, and if this new threat is significant - but she just squeezes his hand. 

At twenty three years old, Buffy is the oldest living Slayer in the last two centuries. She understands now why that’s remarkable but she doesn’t take it for granted, her sister Slayer a painful reminder of her own mortality. There was a time when Buffy expected to simply live until she died. But as she stands in the midst of laughter and holds the hand of her lover she understands the truth: that life is a gift. And it's not one she plans to throw away.


End file.
